Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It happened so suddenly, Figarland Shamrock was to marry Monkey D. Luffy.

Marriages with those from the lower classes were not uncommon in Mary Geoise, and political alliances through matrimony among the Celestial Dragons were even more commonplace. As a member of the Figarland family, Shamrock had never held excessive expectations or fantasies about his future love and marriage since childhood. Yet, even so, he could not prevent a subtle lapse in composure when Garling announced the betrothal.

Monkey was not an unfamiliar name to Shamrock. Even the most ignorant Celestial Dragons in the Holy Land had heard of the Naval Hero to some extent. At glittering banquets, they occasionally spoke of him—more often than not, as one would speak of a sharp blade: dangerous, unruly, yet undeniably useful.

But regardless of how much of a rebel Garp might be, or how dutifully he adhered to his role, the name Monkey and the D. embedded within his hidden name had always remained distant from the Holy Land. Now, however, someone who bore both the name Monkey and the initial D. was about to enter Mary Geoise—not as a slave, but as the new bride of the Figarland family.

For once, Shamrock felt a wave of dizziness.

Chapter Text

Shamrock's premonition had been absolutely correct. Luffy was even more of a disruptive troublemaker than the old Garp—a sudden, rough-edged conch shell appearing on the high grounds of Mary Geoise, impossible to polish, crashing through the Holy Land with the distinct, raw scent of the sea.

The assigned guards and servants dared not obstruct the future Figarland spouse, so they could only pin their hopes on Shamrock. Thus, within just a few weeks, Shamrock had grown accustomed to dealing with Luffy's messes. Since Luffy's movements were confined to the Figarland estate, handling him wasn't particularly troublesome. Shamrock had already learned to haul Luffy away before his own carefully crafted facade of politeness and humility could shatter completely.

The ever-uniform high walls of the Holy Land quickly wore away the novelty Luffy had felt upon his arrival. This time, when Shamrock caught him, Luffy was attempting to sneak beyond the Figarland territory.

Luffy possessed some rudimentary skills, but they were far from enough to handle Shamrock. The result of another failed escape was, naturally, being escorted back to his room by the ever-alert Shamrock.

"Shami... Shammy..."

The little rascal in his arms wasn't the least bit intimidated by Shamrock's darkened expression. Instead, as if by magic, he produced a voice sickly sweet like thick syrup, mewling like a kitten, "Let me down, please..."

This trick had once been remarkably effective. In the past, it could make the pirate captain will be at a loss what to do about this, prompt a barmaid to smilingly sneak him an extra piece of candy, soften a fist of iron into something lighter than a falling pine nut, and even make his bullying brother choke back his anger, turning searing magma into sweet, flowing molten chocolate.

But the trick had been used far too often. Knowing full well that the moment he let go, the boy would just make a face and try to bolt—only to be caught as easily as snatching up a cat—the Celestial Dragon, who shared the pirate captain's face, tightened his grip on the boy's arm even more.

"It's Shamrock."

"Shammy, I'm hungry," his spouse retorted, completely ignoring the correction.

"Mealtime just ended. And you're supposed to be in etiquette class right now."

"But that Melon-Head guy is so boring! He's always saying things I don't understand," Luffy said, his face unusually crestfallen. He had always had a strained relationship with all kinds of rules, regulations, and legal jargon. Soon, though, he perked up with a grin. "Hey! If Shami's done with work, let's go on an adventure together! I found a really interesting place earlier..."

"I refuse."

"You'd definitely like it, Shami..." Luffy's enthusiasm remained undampened by the man's stern demeanor, and he began rambling excitedly.

From the very first day they met, the boy had been convinced the Red-Haired Swordsman wouldn't lay a hand on him (a fact which proved true). After encountering Cerberus, he had redoubled his efforts to recruit Shamrock for his adventures, growing only more persistent and resilient with each rejection.

Shamrock couldn't comprehend what drove this little rascal to pester a Celestial Dragon with such unrelenting persistence and issue commands with such unshakable confidence.

During their not-too-long, not-too-short time together, he had quickly realized that the child before him—who lacked even the basic qualifications of a functioning adult—was utterly different from the spouse the Figarlands required. The future spouse of a Figarland should understand their position, possess the necessary etiquette for life in the Holy Land, and not constantly brim with excessive energy, crashing about while babbling about adventures or addressing a Celestial Dragon with foolish nicknames...

Had Shamrock been dealing with a slave, the task of cultivation would have been simple. Hunger was the simplest punishment for a slave who remained unteachable and obstinate. The biological instinct for self-preservation always eventually molded the best servants for the nobility.

But he was dealing with Luffy. His wife .

His wife, whose very essence reflected freedom and madness, would likely always wave and greet slaves, forever be a misfit in the Holy Land, blissfully unaware of the world's malice, exposing his vulnerable skin without defense, and casting down warm, breathing sanctuaries of respite from between his fingers upon Mary Geoise's cold, indifferent walls.

In the presence of such a being, even breathing too heavily felt like a sin, let alone administering punishment. Only Shamrock could bask in the dawn light filtering through the cracks without being utterly captured by Luffy's indiscriminate love.

The red-haired Celestial Dragon was, for the most part, a qualified jailer. He knew how to skillfully use words to disguise the kidnapping and imprisonment of a child as a short-term trip away from home. He understood how to ignore the child's bizarre Devil Fruit powers and feeble struggles to haul the troublemaker back to his room.

Or perhaps, even the most hard-hearted jailer could be defeated by Luffy's not-particularly-pathetic round face. Forced to listen to Luffy's chattering and complaining the whole way back, Shamrock ordered the servants to prepare food the moment they returned to the room.

The child's utter lack of pickiness towards food made him surprisingly low-maintenance. Apart from the hunger strike in the first few days, Luffy's appetite was frighteningly robust. All food placed before him was cleared in one go the moment it was served. Chewing with his cheeks puffed out like a hamster's, he never forgot to beam a massive grin at the servants who hadn't even had time to hand him his knife and fork.

The already-unsheathed Cerberus gently pressed its jaw against Luffy's wrist. The fearsome beast, capable of tearing enemies apart, now waited eagerly for the child to feed it. Shamrock nodded, signaling the terrified servant to withdraw, and occasionally reached out to wipe crumbs from Luffy's mouth.

Somehow, a scene that would normally be considered vulgar by a Celestial Dragon felt peculiarly soft. Were it not for pressing matters, Shamrock wouldn't have minded lingering longer in this brief illusion that cast a layer of ambiguous warmth over their jailer-and-prisoner dynamic.

Thinking of the interrogation that was to follow, Shamrock's lips tightened into a stern line. "I encountered Vice Admiral Garp today."

"Jiji is here?!" the child cheered, the smile on his face more dazzling than any Shamrock had ever seen before—so much so that the Celestial Dragon felt a faint, stinging pang.

Shamrock's impression of the Naval Hero whom Luffy called "Jiji" was far from positive. During their first meeting, upon learning of the marriage, the Vice Admiral's eyes had blazed with fury, his terrifying Haki leaking out uncontrollably. Only a thread of remaining reason held him back from lunging forward to tear out Shamrock's throat.

It was clear that Garp would not bless this marriage.

Not that Shamrock needed Garp's blessing. He had no reason to care about the opinion of a temporary in-law he would only meet twice—after the marriage, Luffy would take the Figarland name, and the familial tie with the Monkey family would be severed.

Yet, he could also recognize that all signs pointed to this being a political marriage arranged without prior consent from either the "bride" or his guardian.

Perhaps this marriage, decided on a Celestial Dragon's whimsical impulse, had stolen the Naval Hero's treasure.

If the goal was to test Garp, or to directly drive him mad or to his death, then Garling had bet correctly—Luffy was the finest tool in the world for slicing open the Naval Hero, so effective that he could make this blade, dutiful for nearly a lifetime, bare its fangs.

Without a doubt, Garp loved Luffy deeply. But that love wasn't enough to make him abandon everything and break away. Shamrock still remembered how Garp had ultimately lowered his head and fallen silent—the old man had, in the end, acquiesced to this marriage that sold his own flesh and blood.

Unaware of the betrayal by his kin, Luffy looked around with shining eyes, as if expecting Garp to appear suddenly as he always did, pat his head, and tell him that this special training was over and he could go home now.

"Yes, but he's already gone."

Watching Luffy's animated cheeks freeze at his words, the brilliant light in his eyes extinguishing like a snuffed candle, a dark, unsettling surge swelled in the red-haired man's chest—so violent it clawed at him, a raw compulsion to crush that perpetually disheveled black hair beneath his fingers.

"You'll see him at the wedding."

"Mm..."

"He brought some things from that world below. I thought you might find them amusing..." Shamrock's voice took on a silk-wrapped, honeyed edge, "But you will behave until this wedding is over—never forget what you are now, Luffy. A bride."

If he could, Shamrock would sever every last tie Luffy had to that wretched lower world. The very existence of his wife's past—a life begun without him—was an offense, a poison. He was consumed by the conviction that Luffy's future belonged only to the Celestial Dragons, and every trace of that common filth, even the man Luffy still dared call 'Jiji', must be annihilated.

The Vice Admiral's claim on Luffy would be severed at the altar. 'Monkey', that cursed 'D'—all of it would be erased, buried in the abyss where they belonged. Luffy would be remade, a Figarland, his very identity rewritten as Shamrock's property.

Oh, Luffy might still tug at the hair of a World Noble, might grin that infuriating grin and kick at his shins in protest. He might even pretend to sleep, waiting for his keeper's return. But he was still Luffy, stained with the indelible grime of the common world. Everything Shamrock possessed now was a beautiful lie, a fragile illusion constructed upon deceit, destined to shatter when the vows were spoken.

Lies were always most potent when fed to the young and trusting, and Luffy swallowed them whole.

Luffy, in his profound, foolish innocence, believed every hollow promise this stranger—this Celestial Dragon wearing a pirate's face—uttered. He truly thought this was all a game, that after the ceremony, he would be set free. He saw these gilded walls not as a prison, but as a fleeting adventure.

His young wife, still uncomprehending of the chains being forged for him, waited with eager desperation for the wedding's end, dreaming of an escape that would never come. He was blissfully ignorant that from the moment the Holy Land's gaze had fallen upon him, his old life was already a corpse.

The high nobility claimed their treasures with far greater brutality than any common pirate. The Holy Land would never release its prize. The betrayal was not merely inevitable—it was preordained, written into the very foundations of this gilded cage.

The breaking would be harsh. Shamrock knew better than any the depth of Luffy's defiance, the sheer, stubborn fire in him. But the Holy Land would scour him clean, would scour away every last speck of that common dust, just as it would burn the name 'Monkey' from history.

A sudden, vicious image flashed in Shamrock's mind: a tiny, brutally efficient sea prism stone manacle. His precious wife remained utterly ignorant of how slender the thread separating him from the slaves he pitied truly was. On the day they met, such a collar—a slave's collar—had already been locked around his throat.

The only reason it had been removed was simple, cold calculation. Whatever the twisted purpose of this marriage, openly flaying the Naval Hero's grandson with such a visible brand of servitude was a provocation too far. A temporary concession.

But the truth was a hammerblow: even the most renowned Naval Hero from the world below was powerless against the will of the Holy Land. Had that sea prism stone been left to bite into the boy's flesh, old Garp would have been just as helpless, just as broken, as he was when he surrendered his grandson to this marriage. He would have been forced to endure that, too.

Yet just as Shamrock had never imagined Garp would so readily betray Luffy, his second meeting with the Naval Hero arrived far sooner than anticipated. It didn't occur at the wedding. No blood was shed. In fact, the request for a private audience had come from Garp himself. This was something Shamrock had never foreseen: even if he hadn't participated in this cruel conspiracy from the outset, his role as both husband and jailer made him a far more culpable accomplice in the old man's eyes than the true mastermind behind it all.

The old man before him seemed both aged and broken compared to their first encounter, fresh wounds marring his face. If he could, Shamrock would have loved to know what, exactly, had managed to injure the "Hero Garp" so severely.

The once-imposing figure now resembled a dying beast making its last, desperate struggle. After countless rejected pleas to see his grandson, the crumbling old man produced a parcel—

"These are Luffy's… Please, give them to him for me…!" Garp's voice was a ragged tear from his throat, as if only by straining it could he keep from biting through his tongue or shattering his teeth.

The contents of the parcel weren't weapons—unless old Garp had truly lost his mind and decided to personally hand over the very means to destroy the Marine institution he'd spent his life building—nor were they bribes for a Celestial Dragon. Instead, it was a stack of neatly folded garments and a shabby, overly large straw hat tied with a glaring red ribbon.

There was no doubt. These plain, ordinary garments were obstacles to Shamrock's vision, sources of contamination that ought to be destroyed immediately. That hat, most of all.

In fact, Luffy had mentioned this hat to him. He remembered Luffy's fidgeting fingers when he'd asked about it, and the boy's elated cheer when Shamrock, to placate him, had casually promised to help look for it.

Like all lies, Shamrock had never searched for the treasured straw hat.

But that hat was far too familiar, far too conspicuous, making Shamrock's breath catch. A searing pain, as if struck by a blunt weapon, and an indescribable, icy fury began creeping through his veins. Shamrock no longer had the mind to listen to what Garp was actually saying; his gaze remained fixed, unblinking, on that straw hat.

There were many things in life Shamrock had never cared about. Once, he hadn't cared about his own birth or the mother he never knew. He was indifferent to justice and righteousness, scornful of his brother who became a pirate, and ignored prophecies. Caring too much about most things only amplified pain and obscured divine light.

So he also didn't probe why Garling, usually so obsessed with pedigree, had chosen a lower-world nobody for this mismatched marriage. He didn't care about the reasons for Luffy's unguarded trust in him or the origin of that bizarre Devil Fruit power. He dismissed the parts of his own soul that Luffy had altered. He refused to dwell on the faint scar under Luffy's eye, even though that mark and the unknown history behind it—a past he could never enter—always ignited a vicious, destructive urge within him, alongside an unspeakable nostalgia for that tiny sea prism stone manacle.

Now, every unnatural distortion in Luffy's past that he had consciously or unconsciously overlooked converged, connected by the shabby straw hat before his eyes.

He should not care about this hat.

He could not not care about this hat.

Chapter Text

To Shamrock, Luffy remained that hyperactive bundle of trouble. Even the clothes delivered by Garp had only pacified him for a few short days before the restlessness returned. He now even found himself instinctively checking whether his little wife—his personal noise generator, the walking disaster—was still within the confines of his gilded cage, undoubtedly stirring up some new chaos.

"That child's energy is truly extraordinary," Garling remarked.

Shamrock's gaze followed the comment past the window frame, settling on the ornamental tree in the courtyard—Luffy's newest fascination. A species that would be carefully protected in the lower world, but here in Mary Geoise was merely common decorative foliage. And there was his wife, hanging upside down, using his bizarre Devil Fruit powers to wrap himself around the tree's gnarled branches, straining to reach a particularly plump fruit at the very top. Servants stood beneath, arms outstretched in helpless anxiety, desperately trying to catch a breathing invaluable asset.

"Quite a peculiar power, isn't it?" Garling continued.

"Fitting for his character."

"Do you believe it could be the fruit we're looking for, Shamrock?"

Shamrock's heart tightened. He watched as Luffy finally grasped the fruit, nearly tumbling down in the process, then righted himself and waved triumphantly at the nervous servants below.

"Shanks." Garling let the name roll out slowly, like exhaling poisoned smoke. "His ship remained in the East Blue for quite some time. It seems they docked near that very village... Don't you find it all a little too coincidental?"

Shamrock remained silent. He was far more certain of this speculation than Garling was. Garling didn't know about the straw hat's existence, couldn't confirm the tangible connection between Luffy and Shanks. He should have produced the hat, voiced his confirmation.

Yet the words solidified in his throat.

He saw Luffy's eyes, always brimming with boundless vitality, squint with pride, revealing a smile utterly devoid of shadows.

So blindingly bright. This kind of baseless, unreserved joy was itself a mockery of every principle Mary Geoise stood for.

"Perhaps it's merely a coincidence," Shamrock heard his own voice answer, calm to the point of detachment. "There are numerous Paramecia-type fruits in the world with properties similar to the Nika fruit. Charlotte Katakuri, the Sweet Commander of the Big Mom Pirates, and his Mochi Mochi no Mi is one example... Moreover, I find it difficult to believe that Shanks would simply hand over that particular fruit to a defenseless child and then just depart."

Garling fell silent for a moment. "I trust your judgment, Shamrock. We do need more caution regarding this matter, especially after that Figarland turncoat stole the fruit."

In the courtyard, Luffy finally leaped down from the tree. The servants, seemingly infected by his smile, forgot their duties and status, crowding around the young child—their true master.

"The Figarland estate hasn't felt this... vibrant in a long time," Garling's gaze swept across Shamrock's profile. "Shamrock, you seem to be somewhat... excessively tolerant of him."

"Ensuring his adaptation to life in the Holy Land is my responsibility... Appropriate forbearance is merely a necessary measure to maintain stability."

"Even the most prized ornamental plant, if allowed to grow too wild, will lose its intended form and may even erode the foundations of the structure itself. Pruning is necessary for it to properly integrate into this soil. Excessive, ill-timed leniency is always a weakness, and towards a D... it is fatal foolishness. The process of domestication requires an iron will, not unprincipled concessions." Garling's tone carried an unyielding, cold rigidity. "Do not forget who you are, Shamrock."

"Understood." Shamrock lowered his gaze. Luffy had been led away by the servants, and the courtyard returned to its original, lifeless order.

"This will all be over soon." Garling's tone was dismissive, as if discussing some trivial matter. "When the time comes, you will have a more suitable wife, one who can stand by your side permanently. That is the future befitting you."

"Yes."

Satisfied with the response, Garling quietly departed the room. In the returned silence, only time continued its regimented march.

But the silence did not last long, shattered by a single shout.

"Shami—!"

Luffy yelled without any regard for decorum. The expensive fruit—the kind that would spark frenzied bidding in the lower world—was clutched in the child's hand like a common wild berry. He thrust it almost right into Shamrock's face as if displaying a trophy, his expression radiant: "Shami! For you! I picked it! It's gotta be super tasty!"

Shamrock didn't bother correcting the misused name this time, nor did he look at the fruit. His gaze rested on Luffy's cheeks, flushed from running. Those eyes were blazingly bright.

Shamrock averted his eyes, his tone flat. "Deal with it yourself."

Luffy was utterly unfazed by his refusal. "Then I can give it to Doggy Sword! He seems to like eating stuff too."

"Cerberus isn't here right now."

The thought gave Shamrock a headache. The fierce beast capable of easily tearing apart enemies acted as docile as a household pet around Luffy. Luffy, in turn, would fearlessly throw his arms around its neck, chattering incessantly about the 'treasures' he'd found that day—usually strange rocks or insects, sometimes, like now, fruits from who-knows-where. Cerberus always accepted them all, afterwards nudging Luffy's palm affectionately with its massive head, rumbling with a contented purr. Having learned this worked, Luffy had grown even more enthusiastic about feeding Cerberus, to the point where Shamrock no longer carried the beast with him as usual.

Who would have thought such a simple reason could make that Figarland Shamrock abandon his sword? If this got out, people would laugh themselves silly.

"Hmm..."

Rejected, Luffy deflated, withdrawing the fruit dejectedly. He took a loud, crunchy bite himself. Juice splattered, accompanied by the crisp sound, staining his unusually quiet face. Shamrock watched as his wife's cheeks bulged, round and full. His tone softened slightly. "Cerberus is being used for the wedding preparations."

Luffy's attention was caught. Chewing, he looked at Shamrock curiously, his words muffled. "Shami, what's the wedding gonna be like? Will there be lots and lots of yummy meat?" It seemed in his understanding, any event that gathered many people ultimately revolved around feasting and food.

"Whether there will be a banquet will be decided according to the Holy Land's rules."

"Rules are such a pain..." Luffy grumbled, but perked up almost instantly. "But I'll get to see Gramps, right! He said he'd come!"

"Vice Admiral Garp has confirmed his attendance," Shamrock stated, his tone as even as if he were reciting an official document. "The list of other guests is still being finalized."

Shamrock lifted his gaze, his eyes resting calmly on Luffy's face. "Speaking of which, Luffy, your hometown is in the East Blue, correct? Is it very different from the Holy Land?"

"Uh-huh!" Luffy nodded vigorously. "There aren't so many high walls there! You can see the sea for miles! The wind smells different too! And there are lots of windmills!"

"Windmill Village..." Shamrock repeated the name softly, as if it were a strange, previously unheard-of place. His fingertip traced a tiny, unconscious arc on the smooth surface of the table. "Is that where you grew up in the East Blue?"

"Yep!" Luffy's eyes shone brighter. "It's a really small village, but it's got mountains and the sea! The steak at Makino's bar is super tasty!"

"Makino..." Shamrock's fingertip again traced that faint, unconscious arc. "She sounds like a woman who knows how to take care of people?"

"Uh-huh! Makino always gives me good food! And Dadan always yells at me, but she feeds me too... Oh, and Gramps, but he only comes back once in a long while... Ah! And Ace and Sabo!" When he mentioned his brothers' names, Luffy's tone was light and quick, but it soon faltered, his voice dropping. "...But they're not here now."

Shamrock listened, assessing each name.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Driven by some deep-seated, hidden craving, Shamrock preferred to have his wife personally confirm certain matters for him. Perhaps about the straw hat, that scar, the origin of the bizarre Devil Fruit he'd consumed, or maybe that fleeting tremor on Luffy's face during their first meeting.

And with each new name Luffy offered, the scales in Shamrock's heart tipped ever so slightly. He was almost ready to believe. Almost ready to let himself sink into this false peace.

Perhaps... Perhaps he could just end this dangerous probing here...

But just as he was about to look away, Luffy, unconsciously and with utter naturalness, used his rubbery fingers to lightly stretch the corner of his mouth into a childish grimace.

That action—so intrinsically linked to the property of "rubber"—pierced through his newly built, fragile calm like a needle.

And that name broke free from all rational restraint. Before he even realized it, it had already taken form, a feather-light question dropped into the quiet air:

"And... what about Shanks？"

Investigating the origins of someone from the lower world posed no difficulty for Shamrock. It was only then that he realized how little he truly knew of Luffy's past. The young child seemed stubbornly convinced that only cowards missed their family during adventures, so after believing Shamrock's lies, Luffy rarely mentioned those unfamiliar names he'd chattered about upon first arriving in the Holy Land. Or rather, his family (whether Shamrock wished to admit it or not).

The biographical details that could be gathered about Luffy were terrifyingly brief. Biological father: former Marine Monkey D. Dragon. Grandfather: Naval Hero Monkey D. Garp. From birth until being brought to the Holy Land, he had been fostered in a border town of the Goa Kingdom in the East Blue. The photos submitted alongside the written report were likely taken there. In the frames, a young child proudly held up insects he'd caught, revealing a smile smeared with mud—a softer, rounder, more youthful face than the current Luffy's. No scar.

The number of photos wasn't large, and they weren't all of just Luffy. Some featured two unfamiliar children, a gentle-looking green-haired woman, and a fierce-looking orange-haired middle-aged woman. In a few, Shamrock could see the old Vice Admiral's laughing face. All were worthless faces of lower-world people he would never have noticed or remembered if not for their connection to Luffy.

Luffy seemed eternally himself, perpetually radiating immeasurable light and heat. Time seemed incapable of leaving its mark on him. Yet, through these photos, Shamrock could catch a glimpse of that part of Luffy's life that had existed without him—a period that seemed almost too peaceful and stable for this cruel sea.

It had to be said, Luffy's tumultuous personality was a stark mismatch for the East Blue, perhaps the world's most tranquil sea. Even though these waters had nurtured two legends of the previous era, Gol D. Roger and Monkey D. Garp, the East Blue remained so calm that even greed-driven pirates rarely cast their plundering eyes upon it. Pirates that ran rampant in other seas were a scarce commodity here, and those who could be considered strong among them were few and far between.

Except for...

Shamrock recalled the report submitted not long ago. The CP0's intelligence-gathering capabilities were beyond doubt. Even newspapers from years ago remained as good as new, the ink speculating about Red-Haired Shanks's severed arm seemingly never faded.

Years ago, the Red-Haired Pirates had abruptly vanished from the pirate world. After a year of near-total silence, they reemerged, unchanged in every way—except for their captain, who had lost an arm.

Shamrock and Shanks were like two plants grown from the same root, yet branching out with completely opposite flowers and leaves; the pearl and its inferior counterpart from the same oyster; a Celestial Dragon and a lowly pirate sharing the same face. Anyone would scoff at the absurdity of such a fate.

No matter how much Garling detested this aberrant member of their family, viewing him as even more contemptible than the common rabble, or denouncing him as a traitor, Shamrock knew with absolute clarity that his brother was no minor player who could simply stumble and fall in the East Blue.

In the past, this detestable brother of his had roamed the seas aboard the Oro Jackson. After Gol D. Roger's death, he had forged his own path, and now stood as a notorious and powerful figure among the pirates of the lower world. Even the CP0 had been unable to determine what could have cost the pirate—who had once attacked a Celestial Dragon and escaped unscathed—his left arm, leaving him a cripple.

The origin of that severed arm, and the year the Red-Haired Pirates had spent in near-complete obscurity, had remained a fracture line in the otherwise luminous life record of Figarland Shanks.

Now, Shamrock's gaze scraped over Luffy's cheek, his mind flashing through every word of the CP0 report—the East Blue, Windmill Village, the severed arm, the year the Red-Haired Pirates had almost disappeared, and old eyewitness accounts from that remote corner of the East Blue—all clicking into place with terrifying precision. Reality screamed, spun, and collided inside Shamrock's mind. That straw hat was the final piece of the puzzle, revealing a dirty, maddening truth that was almost laughable in its cruelty.

Everything had been completed, in a form of absurd coincidence, by Luffy and that hat. The former fracture line had transformed into the hateful scar coiling across his wife's cheek, a constant reminder to all who knew that this child had already been marked by the Red-Haired Pirate.

The Red-Haired Pirate probably never dreamed, even in his wildest dreams, that this future—for which he would gamble everything, even his life, a treasure more rare and precious than any other—was now trapped within the very cage he had spent his whole life fleeing.

Chapter Text

The moment the name fell, the air in the room seemed to be sucked dry.

Luffy's chewing slowed. He blinked, his thick lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. His face showed none of the expressions Shamrock had anticipated—no sudden brilliant light, nor utter blank confusion. It was a reaction that made Shamrock's heart sink even deeper.

"Shanks is my friend! He saved me!" Luffy declared, but then his voice faltered, his enthusiasm dimming. "He lost his arm because of me... he gave me his most precious straw hat. We promised—when I become a great pirate, I'll give it back to him."

As he mentioned the straw hat, his other free hand rose almost instinctively, reaching towards the top of his head.

It was a gesture he had made thousands of times before—when speaking of the past, when mentioning that straw hat, whenever he reaffirmed his resolve. His fingers would always find the hat's rough yet familiar brim, as if it were a natural extension of himself, as innate as if the hat had always been with him, sitting defiantly on his head declaring the mark of a certain man.

But this time, the child's hand closed around nothing. Only his fluffy, curly black hair. His fingers stalled in mid-air, brushing through the strands.

He had never been separated from his hat for so long. Once his brothers understood how precious it was to their youngest, they became its most loyal guardians. Apart from Makino occasionally borrowing it to mend the seams for better durability, he was rarely without it.

He and his hat had now been apart for far too long, yet he still hadn't grown accustomed to the sense of loss in its absence. He didn't know that even such a small, unconscious motion could sear the Celestial Dragon standing before him.

"Hmm... Even though the hat's not here right now, a promise is a promise. I promised him. After I leave here, I'll definitely find the hat, get super strong, and return it to him."

Leave.

The word hit Shamrock like a corrosive, scalding venom, churning in his chest, eating away at every shred of his reason, accusing his wife of betrayal.

His wife. His Luffy. Adored a pirate. A traitor who had turned his back on the gods, who wallowed willingly in the filth of the lower world. Yet Luffy remained utterly ignorant of the deceit surrounding him, of the betrayal that had already taken place, still immersed in the utopian fantasy spun from that low-class pirate's empty words.

What a meticulously crafted form of domestication.

Shamrock scrutinized every minute shift in expression on Luffy's face.

Why had his wife never stopped to wonder how a pirate who could navigate far more treacherous seas with ease could have lost an arm so readily in the weakest of them all, the East Blue?

His brother was nothing like the noble hero Luffy envisioned. The Red-Haired Pirate was just a parasite, sustaining himself on a child's adoration and love.

Luffy's simple mind would never think to assign blame to another. No matter how clumsy the performance, his kind-hearted wife would always believe, especially when the price was an arm.

But in reality, that was merely the perfect garnish—making the price of investment seem more costly, lending a touch of pathetic sentimentality to this crude snare.

A carefully staged performance. A straw hat. A fabricated tale of adventure. A cheap dose of heroics and some nonsense about freedom. That was all it took to buy Luffy's starry-eyed gaze and unreserved devotion.

How... efficient and  filthy.

Shamrock took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. After the scorching burn of the sun came a wave of dizzying disgust that drowned the Celestial Dragon, followed by an even sharper, stabbing pain. A venomous snake seemed to slowly constrict the World Noble's heart, and an indescribable cold bitterness spread down his throat. He needed to find his voice again, the voice that belonged to Figarland.

"I see... Someone who makes you think that way must be very important to you."

"Yeah! Shanks is the best!"

"In that case, how about letting him be the witness?" the red-haired noble suggested with a tone of near-cruel calm. "Our wedding needs a witness... And as a member of the Figarland family, he has an obligation to attend his brother's wedding, does he not?"

Shamrock watched with satisfaction as Luffy's eyes widened in shock and his voice faltered.

"You... you and Shanks..." The gnawed remains of the fruit slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. The child, grappling with this explosive revelation, gestured helplessly with his fingers. "You're...?"

"...Brothers by blood," Shamrock stated, his voice flatter than before, even tinged with nonchalance, as if merely stating an unimportant fact. "We look alike, don't we? After all, we're twin brothers."

“But… but brothers… shouldn’t they be like me and Ace, and Sabo? Ace and Sabo are like me, we fight together, go hungry together, share food together… You two are nothing alike! Shanks's sword doesn’t turn into a dog, Shanks has short hair and doesn’t wear braids, he always wears those ugly floral pants, Shanks is silly and always teases me, Shanks grew up on a pirate ship, Shanks doesn’t have two hands… Shanks is always laughing, Shammy is always frowning...”

Luffy's voice trailed off into a soft mumble as a simple realization dawned on him slowly, belatedly:

Oh, right. Shammy and Shanks... they both have red hair.

In Monkey D. Luffy's limited memory, there were only two people who possessed hair as red as fire. One was Shanks, the other was Shamrock. When he first met the Celestial Dragon, he had almost blurted out the other name because of the familiar red hair. But that sense of familiarity had been fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it came.

Shanks's hair was always a little messy, carrying the salty scent of sea breeze and the warmth of the sun. It bounced when he laughed heartily, like a real flame. But Shamrock's hair always hung impeccably over his shoulders, cold and sleek.

Even though they both had red hair, they were nothing alike. It was like apples and meat—both were food, but completely different things. Luffy had never thought to put these two red-haired people in the same basket to compare if they came from the same tree. They looked, smelled, and felt like two entirely different beings.

Luffy stared at Shamrock's face, so similar to the Shanks in his memories yet made utterly unfamiliar by a completely different expression. A strange, unsettling feeling gripped him. So they did look somewhat alike... but why had Shanks never mentioned it to him?

But Luffy’s mind, thrown into chaos by the staggering revelation, was in no state to offer the answer he sought. His face, usually brimming with excessive energy or simple appetite, was now blank with stunned bewilderment. All the information swirled and collided wildly within him, thoroughly scrambling his once simple and clear world.

He instinctively tried to touch for his hat, but found nothing there. The lost straw hat had become a distant, hazy, pale landmark in this immense chaos, a fading reference point to a simple past.

“It seems… he never told you about me,” the Celestial Dragon’s voice was almost sorrowful, yet his gaze remained locked intently on Luffy. “Figarland Shanks. That’s his full name. He never tell you, did he?”

Perhaps the shared blood might lead Luffy to believe that Shanks’s brother was also a good man, but Shamrock knew better. This bloodline only meant his brother flowed with the same vile poison as he did, equally skilled at wrapping lethal toxins in the sweetest lies. Only his foolish Luffy remained ignorant, coaxed into swallowing poison by clumsy deception… just as Shamrock himself was now coaxing him, in the same way someone had once coaxed him to eat that fruit.

Shamrock felt his heart give a heavy, single thud. He no longer cared how many wretched lies the red-haired pirate had hidden from the child, for the key to unraveling all those lowly deceptions was now in his hands.

As a husband, it was his duty to sweep away all lies surrounding his wife, including shattering the illusions left by that low-class pirate and snuffing out the light in those clear eyes. Wasn’t it?

But not yet.

“I suspect he would be quite delighted to serve as our witness. After all, once our wedding is over, you and Shanks will be considered… family in a certain sense.”

Shamrock’s words fell like a stone dropped into still water, sending heavy, rippling echoes through Luffy’s already chaotic thoughts. Luffy stared blankly, his brow unconsciously furrowing.

“But…” His mouth opened, his voice coming out a little dry. “Family… isn’t like this, right? Ace and me we…” He tried to grasp at the feeling, but found words utterly inadequate, shaking his head firmly. “can’t just…this.”

“I didn’t say it would be exactly the same.” The corner of Shamrock’s mouth lifted in a barely perceptible curve, his voice softening further, coaxing. “But, Luffy, this connection is real. The wedding ceremony itself may be complicated, but its outcome is not entirely incompatible with… certain things you might hope for.”

Luffy looked up at Shamrock, his gaze clouded with confusion. "...So... does Shanks...know? About... this?about… you and me…？" The question struggled out, fragmented, his fingers twisting anxiously together.

How naive.

How utterly foolish.

His little wife still hadn't grasped who the true culprit was, the one who had brought him to this state. Or was it that, if the Red-Haired Pirate merely nodded his agreement to this marriage, he would unthinkingly follow the pirate's will and hand himself over?

"This marriage involves arrangements made by the Holy Land. It will take time for the outside world to learn of it."

Shamrock's voice remained steady, even tinged with an understanding leniency. "Although it's against protocol, if you wish it, I can make an exception for our witness... Wouldn't this wedding be the perfect stage for your reunion with him?

Do you not wish to see him again?”

“I…” Luffy’s hand unconsciously tightened on the hem of his clothes. “I really want to see Shanks…”

He shook his head. The confusion was gone from his dark eyes, replaced by unwavering resolve.

"But not now. I absolutely can't meet Shanks like this… I promised him—I'll meet him when I've become a great pirate. Not... not like this…not now…"

Dead silence spread through the room.

Enough. Shamrock thought. He had gauged just how deeply this nail was embedded.

The CP0 might track the seas where the Red-Haired Pirates were active or their wild exploits, but there was no concrete, immediate means of contact, no reliable channel to ensure a wedding invitation would reach that man's hands.

This marriage was a closely guarded secret even within Mary Geoise. No matter how far-reaching the Red-Haired Pirate's influence might be in the lower world, he could have no knowledge of this wedding, shrouded in layers of secrecy within the Holy Land itself.

The invitation was never a real option from the start. And his wife had closed that door himself.

An absurd, near-senseless feeling of being chosen washed over the Celestial Dragon's heart.

"I understand. If that is your wish, it shall be as you desire."

Silence returned to the room, and in that quiet, Luffy's voice rang out with startling clarity.

"Shammy, since you and Shanks are brothers... do you want to come with me?"

"...Come with you?"

"Yeah!" Luffy nodded. Then, he flashed that signature grin Shamrock knew so well. "After the wedding's over, I can go home, right? You should come with me! Let's go home together!"

He grew more and more excited as he spoke, even gesturing animatedly, as if this were the best idea ever. "Once we leave this place, you can be my crewmate! Like vice-captain! And we'll go to sea together! Become pirates! Shanks always says I'm an idiot—he's the real dummy! And Ace says I'm an idiot too, says I need smarter crewmates later. But Shammy's really smart, so you should join my crew! We'll leave here together and set sail!"

Shamrock looked into Luffy's expectant eyes, which reflected a free and boundless ocean. Or perhaps, Monkey D. Luffy's eyes were themselves the smallest sea in the world.

That sea had no high walls of Mary Geoise, no Figarlands. Only the salty scent of the wind, rolling waves, the blistering sun, and death lurking everywhere.

And Luffy had just effortlessly pulled him into that sea, back into the world that belonged to him.

In the silence, Shamrock heard the hiss of a serpent.

"Forget those fanciful notions. Our world is right here, Luffy. No sea, no pirates, and no Shanks."

He stroked Luffy's cheek, his thumb passing over the long-healed yet still prominent scar—a mark that, like his younger brother, stubbornly refused to fade. The motion was even gentle, yet it carried an undeniable finality.

Shamrock's gaze remained fixed on Luffy, studying the child's animated, still slightly baby-rounded cheeks as he spoke like a physician examining an overly delicate specimen. The skin there was so thin he could almost envision the warm blood rushing through the delicate veins beneath. A single slap would likely leave a clear handprint, let alone the slice of a blade.

His eyes drifted to the child's wrist, still sticky with fruit juice, where the shape of the bone was clearly visible. He had easily grasped those wrists before, felt the strange tension of the rubber ability, while also gauging the alarming fragility inherent to human bone—breaking those wrists would be no more trouble than snapping a fresh twig, if Shamrock wished it.

The childish chest rising and falling with each breath, the organs cradled within the ribcage, were more tender than a newborn lamb, utterly incapable of withstanding any serious impact.

An unfamiliar, uncontrollable anxiety began to creep up Shamrock's spine. Such a fragile shell housed Luffy's soul—his laughter, his stubbornness, his tears, his almost foolish loyalty to Shanks.

Neither that unreachable dream, nor a promise only a child would make, nor that distant pirate could guarantee the safety of this vessel. The sea would swallow him, illness would consume him, an enemy's blade would pierce him. The conspiracies hidden behind ornate curtains, a simple accident—any of these could snatch his wife's breath away as easily as crushing an insect, taking this foolish spirit from his sight.

Shamrock did not need the sea Luffy clung to for survival. That sea was far too dangerous for his wife. He would wrench Luffy back from its grasp. Liberation would not come at the wedding; the wedding was merely the ceremony where the chains were formally locked into place. Every step of Luffy's remaining life would move only within the permitted world centered around Shamrock. And he would erase everything that might harm his wife—that dream, that promise, that sea, all misfortune and betrayal, all lies and deceit.

Luffy would be kept far from all withering, decay, and death, sleeping soundly within the cage he had built, untouched and unpolluted by anyone and Shamrock would ensure this marriage remained undisturbed by anyone.

The deck of a pirate ship? A place as a crewmate?

What a pitiful, naïve delusion.

Chapter Text

The wedding was utterly wretched.

Only Shamrock's footsteps echoed in the empty, long corridor.

Weddings were not common in Mary Geoise, nor were they particularly significant. The Celestial Dragons needed no reason for their revelry and feasting; the banquets in the Holy Land were almost ceaseless. Among the invitations Shamrock had declined, a few wedding feasts had occasionally been mixed in.

In earlier times, Shamrock had indeed attended a few Celestial Dragon weddings. He still remembered the scents of flowers and spices, the sound of white doves flapping their wings. But he had never imagined his own wedding would be so crude. It neither aligned with Garling's usual obsession with what was "befitting," nor with Shamrock's own status. It was even too crude to befit the identity of a Celestial Dragon.

The Figarland family had been practically negligent toward the child Shamrock was about to marry. There were no white doves, flowers, or hymns. The ceremony was arranged in a remote, empty room within the estate. Even Shamrock, the groom, wore the uniform of the God's Knights identical to his usual attire, with Cerberus at his side.

His hand rested on the hilt of Cerberus. The sword was sharper now than it had ever been. The Celestial Dragon needed to ensure it could effortlessly slit the throat of any uninvited guest who dared disrupt the wedding—especially since the list of potential disruptors included the aged yet still formidable Naval Hero.

Even though Shamrock wouldn't mind killing Garp, he still hoped the old Vice Admiral would live rather than die by his hand. After all, he had recently argued with Luffy, and killing his grandfather in front of him would undoubtedly worsen their already strained relationship.

Luffy was the most difficult person to please that Shamrock had ever encountered. If his wife were an ordinary woman, a bouquet of flowers would be enough to earn a smile. Even if she were a Celestial Dragon, it would only mean the flowers in that bouquet needed to be made of gold or be a rare, nearly extinct species. But his Luffy could never tell the difference between a rare blossom and a common wildflower. Even if gold capable of toppling a nation were placed beside a readily available insect, Luffy would always, without fail, reach for the pitiful bug.

At this thought, Shamrock’s gaze drifted uncontrollably to the far end of the long corridor. There stood a tall, stained-glass window, and before it stood his wife, back turned toward him. Dappled light danced across black hair and the hem of a gown, tracing the slender yet supple curves of the child’s chest and waist. The wedding dress was cinched too tightly at the midsection with laces, its excessively wide skirt trailing on the floor. Layer upon layer of lace, silk, and tulle wrapped around the child like an ill-fitting cocoon, radiating a beauty that was almost unnerving.

After a brief daze, Shamrock’s heart filled with a seething, violent rage. He wasn’t even entirely sure where this fury came from. His wife had been left here alone—the family couldn’t even be bothered to arrange a proper resting room for him, or at least assign someone to watch over him. What made them think they could neglect his Luffy like this—?

But Luffy remained oblivious to Shamrock’s churning emotions. He was bent forward, intently studying the floor before him, as though steeling himself. Then, with careful, almost comical caution, he attempted a step. The weight of the skirt made him sway, so he withdrew his foot, frowning deeply.

It wasn’t his fault. Back in Windmill Village, he had only briefly encountered such unfamiliar garments while helping Makino hang laundry. The barmaid’s clothes were always simple and practical, never heavy even when soaked. This dress, however, was both ill-fitting and cumbersome, hanging off him like a heavy, wilted white flower. Together with the powder smeared on his face, it made him intensely uncomfortable.

Monkey D. Luffy was clearly not one to give up due to discomfort or a single setback. Regaining his balance, he tried to take a step once more, but this time the multiple layers of fabric immediately tangled around his calf, causing him to teeter forward. The veil over his black hair swayed with the motion, nearly slipping off.

Instinctively, the child closed his eyes, bracing for the impact with the floor—but the expected pain never came. Instead, he was caught in a firm embrace.

He opened his eyes and met Shamrock’s gaze.

"Hey... Shammy..."

Luffy didn't know what to say. Not long ago, they had argued when Shamrock dismissed his dream as a fanciful delusion, and they had parted on bad terms. If it were Ace, they'd probably still be sulking at each other.

The sudden sensation of weightlessness cut off his words. The skirt cascaded down, the tulle and silk whispering as they rubbed together. The veil swayed, fracturing the light into fragments. Luffy's wide, dark eyes stared in startled confusion at the face now so close to his, the unexpected situation making the child seem even more flustered and pitiful.

"This is faster," Shamrock said. Even holding Luffy, he still had to lower his head slightly to meet his eyes.

"But this is weird..."

"This is faster. Or would you rather walk yourself? Like you were doing just now? If you can promise you'll make it to the destination without falling, I'll put you down."

Luffy looked down at the dress he was wearing, then at the smooth floor, and shook his head honestly. "Walking in this is super annoying."

"Then it stays like this," Shamrock said, his voice steady. His right arm supported Luffy's entire weight, his right hand holding the child's thigh through layers of fabric.

"But I'm heavy, right?" Luffy's expression was serious, his brow furrowed. "It'll be tiring."

"You're not heavy. You're light." It was the truth. Luffy's weight was negligible to Shamrock, yet the intimate contact carried a hidden sensation so heavy it threatened to crush the boundaries of his reason.

"Hmm..." Luffy blinked. His legs dangled slightly in the air, the tips of his shoes tracing small arcs. "If you get tired, tell me. I can walk by myself—"

"No need," Shamrock cut him off, the muscles in his arm involuntarily tensing. "This is fine."

"Okay..."

Luffy lowered his head. The veil formed soft folds over his shoulders, its edge brushing his cheek. His usually messy hair was uncharacteristically smooth today. His hair could simply be called black, but the word 'black' felt too plain—this shade of black deserved to be sung about. His always-large eyes seemed even larger now, his lashes thick. That hateful scar was no longer conspicuous, concealed by rouge and powder. The hint of pink at the corner of his eyes was unbelievably moving. His rose-colored lips were full and lush, radiating a tempting sheen.

Shamrock gazed at his wife with something akin to greed, taking in the slender shoulders wrapped in delicate white lace. A silken ribbon was artfully tied around Luffy's delicate neck. On the smooth nape between the ribbon and his hair, Shamrock could clearly see the pulse beating in his throat.

Shamrock had seen many brides, but none like Luffy.

Most brides at Celestial Dragon weddings were snatched from the lower world. Most had long accepted their fate, understanding they were mere playthings for the World Nobles' amusement. Some even attempted assassinations during the ceremonies. The God's Knights handled no fewer than five such assassination attempts against World Nobles at weddings each year. No matter how efficiently the Knights disposed of these consumable brides, it couldn't keep pace with the Celestial Dragons' fickleness. Often, the blood of the previous bride hadn't even dried before a new one was ushered in to repeat the cycle. Among them were also fools who believed the words of love from a Celestial Dragon, walking through the entire ceremony with dazed, lovestruck eyes. But whether happy or not, Shamrock never saw those brides again.

This silent disappearance was somewhat a relief to him. He had grown rather weary of the unchanging hatred in the eyes of lower-world people, their hysterical curses, and the warm blood staining Cerberus.

Fortunately, Luffy would not be one of those brides.

Never, ever, would he be.

Merely placing Luffy in the same category as those past brides was enough to turn Shamrock's stomach, let alone imagining those bloodstained, blurred faces from memory superimposed onto Luffy's. Even the fleeting thought at the edge of his consciousness made Shamrock's gut twist. The feeling was so unusual that the long-established, rigid defense system within the red-haired noble's mind needed to fabricate a safe reason for its master to mask this sensation, then obliterate the unnamed emotion behind it—the one even its master refused to acknowledge or examine.

Luffy, however, remained oblivious to Shamrock's gaze. He frowned, his long, thick lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. Several times, he started to raise his wrist to rub his eyes, then seemed to remember he shouldn't smudge something, ultimately just using a knuckle to very carefully dab at the corner of his eye. His lips were also unconsciously pressed together, as if trying to erase that unfamiliar, strange feeling.

"Don't move," Shamrock murmured, his voice softer than ever before. "It'll be uncomfortable." He reached out, using his fingertip to gently brush near the corner of Luffy's eye, where a tiny, faint smudge had spread. He wiped away the clumsy trace left by his wife, withdrawing just before Luffy's long lashes could brush against his hovering finger.

After dealing with the smudge, Shamrock lightly touched the edge of the veil. The white fabric was cold, yet it seemed to sear his fingers. It shimmered against the pained skin of his left hand before he, as one might handle an exceedingly rare and precious treasure, adjusted its placement to ensure it would stay upon his wife's head.

Luffy gazed up at Shamrock, bewildered. Even if he didn't understand Shamrock's actions, he could sense the weight of emotion behind them. So, he sat up straight as best he could, doing his utmost to keep the veil positioned just as Shamrock had arranged it.

Shamrock held his little wife in his arms. Luffy's profile was softened by the veil, his long lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. Gazing at his wife, Shamrock suddenly spoke: "Being here alone... do you not feel..."

"Feel what?" Luffy asked, puzzled.

Do you not feel neglected? Do you not feel lonely? Do you not feel that this marriage, and you yourself, are not being taken seriously?—These questions swirled on Shamrock's tongue but remained unspoken.

"Nothing," Shamrock heard himself say, abruptly changing the subject. "It's just that some places believe it's unlucky for the groom and bride to see each other before the wedding ceremony."

Luffy blinked, his eyes widening slightly. "Huh? There's such a saying?" He thought for a moment, then asked earnestly in return: "So since we saw each other now, will we be unlucky?"

"No," Shamrock answered quickly, almost without thinking. "That's just nonsense," he added, as if needing to justify his decisive denial.

"Oh." Luffy accepted this, then smiled. "I don't think so either. Luck is something you decide for yourself, it's not about meeting or not." He paused. "Shammy's really amazing, knowing even something like that."

"It's just knowledge."

Shamrock averted his eyes, looking toward the end of the corridor. "We're here."

The wedding was utterly wretched. The room where the ceremony took place was stiflingly small. Luffy spotted the familiar figure in the corner almost immediately—his lips curved upward, his body leaning forward unconsciously. He hadn't seen his grandfather in so long; he had so much he wanted to say to him—

But Garp's reaction was nothing short of cruel. The moment Luffy's gaze found him—the same instant he saw Luffy—his hands, hanging at his sides, clenched violently, knuckles cracking under the strain. Every muscle in his arms, hidden beneath his suit, bunched and corded, screaming his fury. Yet in the end, he only turned his head away with a wretched jerk, fixing his eyes stubbornly on the mottled shadows of the wall, refusing any possible meeting of gazes, shutting the child out of his sight with an almost desperate finality.

And so, all words died. Luffy's expression froze, turning into a blank bewilderment. He was at a loss; the joy of seeing family silently dissipated into a fog of confusion.

Garling took it all in. His gaze swept over the old Vice Admiral's face, meeting Shamrock's eyes. It then passed over the lovely face cradled in Shamrock's arms. The elder Celestial Dragon ultimately chose to ignore his son's overly intimate, even borderline inappropriate, transgression. As the officiant, he began reciting the prepared words.

The vows were brief to the point of carelessness. Garling read the dry, legalistic text in the same flat tone he used for routine administrative matters. Luffy initially tried to follow the convoluted, tongue-twisting phrases but quickly lost interest. His gaze wandered among the blurred patches of light cast by the stained-glass windows, until the final syllable of the last vow fell.

The crude ceremony concluded the moment Garling closed the document. Garp had already vanished into the shadows, never looking back. Having finished the recitation, Garling moved past the silent newlyweds and prepared to leave. The entire room sank into a silence deeper than before.

Just then, Luffy, who had been quietly resting in Shamrock's arms, moved. He turned his head, his expression one of near-serious intent. Then, carefully, solemnly, he lightly pressed his own lips to the corner of Shamrock's mouth, so close at hand.

A touch, then gone.

It could hardly even be called a kiss.

It was merely a dry, clumsy contact—one that would never be dreamed of, difficult to probe, impossible to foresee.

All time stretched infinitely thin by this brief, illusory kiss. Perhaps a century passed before Shamrock heard his own voice cut through the stagnant air:

"...Why did you do that?"

"Don't weddings always have this?" Luffy blinked, as if unable to understand why Shamrock would ask such a question. The lingering sensation on his lips—one not his own—made him think of something else. He raised his hand and casually rubbed the back of it against his lower lip. "Oh, right. How did that stuff they put on the mouth taste?"

"...It has no taste."

"Oh." Luffy received the answer, seeming neither surprised nor disappointed. He just rubbed his lips again. "That's good. It felt kinda weird."

"Oh! Right!" Luffy let out a short exclamation, as if suddenly remembering something important. "Shammy, give me your hand."

Shamrock hadn't yet recovered from the blankness. He obediently raised his empty left hand, letting Luffy take it—only now did Shamrock notice that from the beginning until now, Luffy's hand had been loosely clenched, knuckles pale—and now, it finally opened.

In his palm lay a ring woven from blades of grass.

The grass ring was too small, so small it seemed insignificant even in Luffy's palm.

No matter how hard Luffy had tried to maintain its shape, the blades of grass had softened and flattened from being held for so long. The weaving was endearingly clumsy, the form lopsided and crooked—clearly the work of hands unaccustomed to delicate tasks.

Even the dark gloves worn by the God's Knight as usual didn't change Luffy's mind. He picked up the tiny grass ring and tried to slip it onto Shamrock's finger, but it caught at the first knuckle, impossible to push past.

"Seems a little small..." he said with a frown.

Trying another finger yielded the same result. The ring looked painfully constricted on any fingertip of Shamrock's.

"It really is too small."

After testing every finger, even the pinky, Luffy finally reached his conclusion. There was no frustration in his tone, only the calm acceptance of a fact. He stared at Shamrock's hand and his own creation for a few seconds, seemingly pondering a solution.

Then, he placed the grass ring into Shamrock's palm and closed Shamrock's hand over it. His own hands were much smaller, needing both to envelop Shamrock's clenched fist.

"This works," Luffy said, his voice resonating against Shamrock's chest. "It's on your hand anyway, right?"

Shamrock clasped it in a daze, his grip impossibly light, as if the slightest pressure would utterly crush it.

It was too crude. A few wild grasses, easily found anywhere, already dried out. The blades were uneven in thickness, their edges smooth. The weaving technique was laughably clumsy—just crude twisting and coiling. The shape of the ring was crooked, hardly circular at all, more like a geometric error haphazardly kneaded into form.

It was too small. So small it couldn’t even slip past the tip of Shamrock’s littlest finger, barely hanging on like a shoddy ornament meant for a doll. Held for too long in the child’s palm, shaped by body heat and sweat into a wilted clump molded to a boy’s hand, its color had shifted from yellowish-green to a mottled, uneven hue, like a withering twig. It emitted no shine of gem or metal, only the dry scent of decaying plant matter, mixed with a trace of the clean, slightly salty sweat from Luffy’s hand.

It was so cheap, so fragile. Yet it existed so palpably—coarse, vulnerable, carrying the warmth and stubborn earnestness of another person. It made him want to reach out and touch his precious little wife, to hold him, to caress him. This soft feeling was so intense he had to clench his fists, afraid they might fly out and wrap tightly around him.

But he also felt suffocated. All the air seemed sucked from his lungs, replaced by a burning, sweetly metallic fluid that filled his chest and seared his throat. An intense numbness shot from his fingertips up his spine, making him almost stagger.

“Why?”

Shamrock heard himself ask, though he didn’t even know what answer he sought. Yet he had to question, to keep questioning; only this could sustain the past, preventing that feeling from utterly consuming and incinerating him.

“Because Shammy is a good person.”

Shamrock’s heart stuttered.

“Even though we argue sometimes, I don’t dislike Shammy…” he continued. “Ever since I came here, Shammy’s always been the one looking after me. Even today was like that, otherwise I would’ve fallen lots of times. I’m really bad at wearing this.”

Luffy smiled. It was a light, soft smile, like the first glimmer of morning light skimming the water’s surface—utterly natural, without artifice. The corners of his lips merely lifted into a gentle curve, yet it brightened his entire face. The faint stain left on his lips lent the smile a touch of naive, unconscious radiance. And those eyes—clear, bottomless eyes—curved into little crescents, holding a gaze that was frank, almost transparent.

“Thank you, Shammy.”

The world floated around Shamrock. Time stretched and warped infinitely. The dappled light from the stained-glass windows, the dust motes drifting in the air—all the background faded, blurred into indistinct noise. Only his wife remained sharply in focus.

A violent spasm, one that threatened to tear his chest apart, seized Shamrock. Not pain, but something more overwhelming, more terrifying, exploding from the deepest core of his heart, surging through his veins, searing every nerve ending.

All that the Celestial Dragon had been crumbled in an instant. That rejected, never-permitted, never-named emotion of a lifetime now roared and gnawed, devouring everything Shamrock was.

And Luffy was there, like a small, eternal constant.

The wedding was utterly wretched.

Chapter Text

The first meeting between Shamrock and Luffy occurred not long after Garling announced the betrothal. It was Shamrock's first time seeing his wife—but it was not Luffy's first time seeing Shamrock.

For a long time at the beginning, Luffy couldn't quite understand what had happened. Everything seemed to change in an instant. One moment he was in the forests of Mount Corvo; the next, when he opened his eyes, there was no grassy meadow beneath him, nor the familiar wooden planks. The cloyingly sweet scent hanging in the air made his head feel heavy and muddled. The unfamiliar fabric, smooth to the point of coldness, helped clear his chaotic mind just a little.

He instinctively tried to move, but his body felt as if submerged in seawater—lifting even a single finger required immense effort. After several failed attempts, the child finally gave up and turned his gaze toward the window by the bed, straining to find something—anything—familiar beyond that tall, narrow frame. A single tree. A cloud. A hint of blue, sea-like light. But there was nothing. Only walls so high they were terrifying, and beyond them, more pointed rooftops, layered one upon another, slicing the sky into fragments. This was not Mount Corvo. This was nowhere he knew or recognized.

When his gaze swept across the courtyard, amid the unfamiliar scenery, a familiar spot of red appeared. Luffy's heart slammed against his ribs. A name drenched in sea breeze and sunlight rose to the tip of his tongue, almost bursting forth. He opened his mouth, but lacked even the strength to make a sound.

Why would Shanks be here?

Everything that had happened was far too strange. Luffy's brows knitted together as his muddled mind struggled to find an answer. He felt terrible all over; it wouldn't be surprising if he was seeing things. But at the same time, he was certain it was Shanks. After all, who else but Shanks had hair that red?

But he couldn't meet Shanks yet. He hadn't even set sail, let alone become a pirate. Besides, if Shanks saw him like this… who knew how he'd laugh at him…

That was what he thought. Yet the sense of security that something familiar brought him in this situation was undeniable—especially since it might hold the key to why he was here. But as Luffy strained his eyes, trying to follow the red-haired figure's trail, he found that the silhouette had already vanished into the courtyard, as if it had never been there at all. Like an illusion.

What drew his gaze away was a faint rustling sound. A pale figure had appeared beside the bed at some unknown moment—a woman holding a cup. Her pallid face was utterly expressionless, making it resemble a mask more than a living visage. She showed no surprise at Luffy's awakening, no curiosity toward the unfamiliar child before her. She simply stepped forward, dipped a slender silver spoon into the cup, and brought it to Luffy's lips.

Luffy had so many questions for the first person he'd seen since waking. The slightly cool water brought brief moisture to his throat, but it still couldn't manage more than a vague sound, let alone a full word. Realizing this, Luffy tried to lift his hand—only for his fingers to twitch faintly against the smooth sheets, unable to raise even his wrist from the bed.

The woman watched his struggle silently, her mask-like face betraying nothing. She waited a moment, as if confirming that Luffy couldn't form a complete sentence, before speaking: "Please rest assured. Everything you require will be prepared for you."

With that, she set down the cup, dabbed away a tiny trace of water accidentally spilled at the corner of Luffy's mouth with a handkerchief, straightened the rumpled bedding, performed a strange but precise curtsy, and retreated from the room with the same soundless steps with which she had entered.

Once again, Luffy was alone in the room. His body surrendered to the lethargy of prolonged hunger; his stomach felt hollow, yet he had no desire to eat—something utterly impossible for the child before. But now, even his appetite had been worn away by this environment. When he realized that Shanks's straw hat was nowhere within his field of vision, that sensation deepened into a weakness far more agonizing than physical discomfort, and a nameless dread. He tried to piece together some understanding through the haze and exhaustion, but found only deeper confusion.

Monotonous light streamed through the window, then gradually dimmed, marking the passage of time. In the days that followed, the door remained shut except when the woman came. The window wouldn't open. The red-haired figure never reappeared in the courtyard.

When Shamrock first pushed open that heavy door and stepped into the room, Luffy was curled up on the bed in the spot closest to the window. The servant Garling had arranged sat beside him. After the last spoonful of water was fed, the woman carefully wiped Luffy's mouth with her handkerchief—though it hadn't been soiled at all. Then she began gathering the tray, movements still soundless, preparing to slip away as usual.

Just as she lifted the tray, had risen to her feet, and before her knees had fully straightened, Luffy suddenly spoke. His voice was hoarse and faint from weakness and long silence, but in this stillness, it was clear enough:

"Thank you."

The woman's movements froze, as if Luffy had uttered some terrible curse. Her fingers tightened around the tray, knuckles whitening slightly. She remained rigid in her half-raised posture for a full two or three seconds.

"I… I was merely fulfilling my duties," the woman said quickly, a suppressed urgency in her voice. "Please rest well."

When she noticed that Shamrock had somehow entered the room and was standing there, that suppressed urgency transformed into something approaching hopeless terror. Even though the Celestial Dragon's gaze hadn't lingered on her for more than a second, her lips still trembled, and she bowed her head so low it nearly disappeared into her own body.

"You may withdraw," the red-haired Celestial Dragon said.

The woman moved as if pardoned. With movements swifter than before, almost hurried, she bowed deeply—so deeply that Luffy worried the tray in her hands might fall—but she steadied it. Still she did not raise her head, nor did she make a sound. She simply retreated toward the door with steps lighter and quicker than when she'd arrived, almost fleeing from the room. The door closed softly behind her.

Shamrock stopped at a short distance from the bed, not approaching further. Sunlight filtered through the glass, casting dappled shadows across his face, lending him an air of unreality.

Confronted with this visitor, Luffy struggled to sit up, but his arms still couldn't support his weight. He panted, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Shamrock watched Luffy silently. Then he walked to the bedside, reached out, and supported Luffy by the shoulder and back. His strength was perfectly controlled—enough to support Luffy's weight without causing pain. Having ensured Luffy was securely propped against the pillows, his hand moved toward the collar that had been around Luffy's neck ever since he'd awakened. His fingers pressed against some point on the side of the collar, then, gripping both sides, he pulled it apart.

In that instant, Luffy felt a familiar sensation gradually returning to his body. He looked up at the red-haired noble. The opened collar gleamed with a cold, hard light in his palm. His expression remained calm, as if he'd merely undone an ordinary button.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his gaze resting on Luffy's face. "This is a sea prism stone collar. A restraining device."

"Restraining?" Luffy repeated. "Restraining what?"

Shamrock didn't answer Luffy's question.

He walked to the small table by the window—where a silver tray sat, covered by a hemispherical silver lid. He lifted the cover, and the aroma of food immediately wafted out: tender, simmered meat soup, soft bread, and a small dish of cut fruit.

He carried the tray to the small table beside the bed, movements steady and fluid.

"Eat first," he said. "You need to regain your strength."

Luffy looked at the food, and his stomach immediately let out a loud growl. He licked his dry, cracked lips and reached for the bread. But even with the collar removed, his body remained weak. His fingers trembled, nearly dropping the bread onto the bed. Luffy stared at his hands blankly, trying to understand what had happened to his body.

Shamrock watched his clumsy movements in silence for a few seconds. Then, he pulled a chair over to the bedside, sat down, picked up the spoon, scooped up some broth, and brought it to Luffy's lips.

Luffy froze for a moment.

He looked at the spoonful of soup, then at Shamrock's calm face, hesitating briefly. But he was too hungry. Hunger overpowered his instinctive wariness. He opened his mouth and drank the soup.

The warm liquid slid down his throat, bringing a comforting warmth.

"…Thanks…" Luffy mumbled, still holding soup in his mouth.

Shamrock said nothing, simply continuing to scoop up a second spoonful. His movements were precise and patient, each spoonful perfectly measured—not too much to make Luffy choke, not too little to seem perfunctory.

Luffy let himself be fed like this, slowly finishing most of the soup and eating several pieces of bread. As the food settled in his stomach, he felt strength gradually returning to his body, even his vision growing clearer.

"What you just experienced was a side effect of the medication. It will completely fade in another day or two. Don't worry."

"Medicine?" Luffy tilted his head. "Was I sick?"

"Not sick." Shamrock paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "A necessary measure to safely transfer you to Mary Geoise. A… protective measure during the long journey."

"Journey?" Luffy grew more confused. "But I never agreed to come here, and I don't remember any journey."

"It seems Vice Admiral Garp didn't tell you…"

"Huh? You know my grandpa?"

"Everyone knows him," Shamrock said. "Monkey D. Garp, Vice Admiral, Hero of the Marines. I've heard of his exploits from many people."

This was no lie, though hardly what Luffy had hoped to hear—but Luffy failed to recognize the subtle distinction. The mention of Garp gave shape to everything he couldn't understand. The old man had often done similar things before, tying Luffy to balloons and launching him, dropping him into forests. Compared to that, waking up in a strange place this time even seemed unusually gentle.

"Grandpa, how could he…" Luffy muttered. "Always throwing me into weird places without saying anything."

That said, at least things were finally making sense. Luffy broke into a goofy grin. "So what am I supposed to do this time? Wrestle monkeys or fight bears? I'm really strong! I can beat any opponent!" Too weak to strike his usual fighting pose, his words still carried conviction.

"Marry me."

Shamrock said it.

The air went still for a few seconds.

Luffy blinked. Then blinked again, as if he hadn't understood the word. He opened his mouth, tried to say something, but his throat seemed blocked.

"…Marry?" He finally found his voice. "But I don't want to be with you." Luffy spoke bluntly. "I want to go home."

"Why?"

"Because… because… because I don't want to marry you," Luffy said. "Besides, isn't there any other way? I can fight for you—I'm really good at fighting! Or carry things for you—I'm super strong—"

"Unnecessary." Shamrock cut him off.

Luffy's shoulders slumped.

"If you refuse, you will remain in this room," Shamrock said calmly. "Your meals will arrive on time, your health will be ensured, but you will stay here. With only your wish to go home, you cannot leave Mary Geoise."

"Luffy," Shamrock's voice dropped low, as if sharing a secret. "I understand your resistance. We all feel uneasy facing the unfamiliar. But—"

He paused, reaching out to gently press his hand over Luffy's, which was clutching the bedsheet.

"Sometimes, we must go through seemingly unreasonable things to get what we truly want," he said, his voice carrying an almost hypnotic gentleness. "You want to go home, don't you?"

Luffy nodded.

"Marriage is simply your path home," Shamrock continued, his fingers lightly stroking Luffy's hand. "You don't need to understand it, nor like it. You only need to know it is the only way. And I will hold your hand and walk through it with you…"

"Marry me, Luffy."

The Celestial Dragon's tone was excessively tender, almost unnerving to hear.

Luffy's fingers slowly relaxed. Then, he nodded.

"Fine," he said. "I agree."

Watching the boy's lashes flutter downward as he made his decision, a strange sense of satisfaction detonated in the Celestial Dragon's chest—from this moment onward, something had changed forever.

And his wife remained utterly unaware of it. The child simply gently squeezed the hand that Shamrock had placed over his, looking up at the red-haired man.

"I'm Luffy. Monkey D. Luffy." Luffy offered a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Figarland Shamrock."

It was a somewhat long and difficult name; Luffy couldn't quite remember it at first. He looked at the man's red hair, studying his face carefully for the first time.

Oh, so the Shanks in the courtyard was actually him, he thought.

Luffy wasn't stupid. He knew that in the forest, there were always two similar leaves, and occasionally two fish with nearly identical patterns would swim by. The world was vast; people who looked alike weren't anything to make a fuss about. Besides, both Shanks and Shamrock had red hair. Luffy knew that black-haired people had black-haired children, blond-haired people had blond-haired children, and people with the same hair color tended to resemble each other. That being the case, it wasn't strange that all red-haired people had the same face.

He thought back to the woman's strange behavior when leaving the room. Luffy didn't quite understand—was this face really that terrifying? Why did she look so afraid, as if one more glance would burn her alive? How could there be people in this world you weren't allowed to look at? People weren't the sun. Besides, even the sun—couldn't you look at it from far away?

Thinking this, Luffy found the man's face increasingly unfamiliar. He could distinguish beauty from ugliness, but people's appearances had never held any particular meaning for him. If someday Luffy were to share this bizarre experience with Shanks, he might use the man with the face identical to the red-haired captain's as the story's most incredible footnote.

It was only later that Luffy learned these two were actually brothers.

Brothers, yet utterly different.

Shamrock wasn't like anyone Luffy had ever met before. He wouldn't embrace him with a booming laugh, wouldn't get dead drunk and curl up in Luffy's lap telling tales of past adventures, wouldn't lie with his head in Luffy's lap soaking up the afternoon sun. But Luffy knew Shamrock would silently put away the books he'd stacked like blocks; he knew Shamrock would place the utensils where he could easily reach them; he knew Shamrock could smile gently, too. Perhaps Luffy didn't know everything about Figarland Shamrock, but this was enough for him.

Even though truly setting sail was still far off, Luffy had already tried inviting Shamrock to join his crew—he liked Shamrock, so he wanted Shamrock to be his companion. But Luffy didn't need a comfortable bed to sleep in, nor did he need polished knives and forks to eat with, yet these were all parts of Shamrock's life. If Shamrock actually agreed, the still-shipless Luffy didn't even have a bed big enough to accommodate his crew member.

Sabo had said that people, like plants transplanted to new soil, could die from failing to adapt. Luffy knew better than anyone how painful it was to be alone in a strange place—even with all the delicious meat by Shamrock's side, Luffy still missed Mount Corvo; no matter how much he liked Shamrock, Shamrock's beautiful cloak would never fit in with the weathered old boards of Luffy's kingdom, just as Luffy could never blend into this quiet world where everyone kept their heads down.

But at least the wedding was over. Soon Luffy could leave, go home, return to Mount Corvo—just as Shamrock had promised.

But things did not unfold as the child had hoped. He did not board a ship home the moment the wedding ended. Instead, he was brought to a room—a room that, in Luffy's eyes, looked no different from any other.

The heavy door closed behind them, and Luffy broke the silence.

"Shammy, Shami—you can put me down now."

He wriggled slightly, the layers of wedding dress fabric rustling, the pearl-encrusted heavy veil slipping down Shamrock's arm with the movement. But Shamrock didn't release him immediately. He walked to the bed, bent down, and only withdrew his hands once he had ensured Luffy was securely seated.

The silk bedding was soft; the spread of the skirt sank slightly into the mattress. Luffy sat at the edge, wrapped in these opulent, heavy fabrics, like a delicate, fragile, overly packaged gift.

"This is our room," Shamrock said. He had already removed his God's Knight coat and gloves, and casually draped the fallen veil over the back of a chair.

But Luffy's attention was entirely on the dress. "How do I take this off? It's so heavy, my neck feels itchy…"

Shamrock looked down at Luffy's hands, struggling with the dress's intricate decorations. His rubber fingers were flexible, but still helpless against the countless layers of lace and ribbon.

Shamrock reached out, his fingertips touching a ribbon tie.

"I can do it myself—"

"Don't move," Shamrock interrupted. "These ribbons require technique to undo."

Luffy stopped moving. The presence of another person's hand was too strong, making him shift his shoulders uncomfortably.

At first, it was simply undoing. One by one, the complex ribbons and sashes that had secured the heavy wedding dress to Luffy's body came loose with Shamrock's movements. But his motions were unusually slow, as if each knot demanded intense concentration.

As the outer ties loosened, the freed silk slowly slid across Luffy's skin—first at his side, then across his flat stomach, finally pooling beside him. The descent was so unhurried, as if time itself had been slowed by honey, so that the lighter petticoat beneath seemed to take an eternity to emerge.

Feeling the fabric that still held the child's residual warmth, reason screamed at Shamrock to let go immediately, step back, restore a safe distance. The remaining layer of silk was too thin—so thin it was barely more than a layer of warmth as light flowed across skin, utterly incapable of blocking a Celestial Dragon's gaze. Occasionally, Shamrock's knuckles would inadvertently brush Luffy's side; even through the fabric, the slender curve of the child's waist was unmistakable. Shamrock's gaze clung greedily to the gradually exposed skin. The lines of Luffy's back were clean and slender, his shoulder blades like butterfly wings not yet fully spread, rising and falling gently with each breath. Luffy remained oblivious to the Celestial Dragon's viscous stare, simply sitting quietly, occasionally shrinking his shoulders when an itch tickled him.

Suddenly, a ribbon securing the inner lining came loose. A white ribbon fell softly from Luffy's chest, settling at the edge of the petticoat pooled at his waist. The fabric that had been snug against his chest gaped slightly—a narrow opening, less than a finger's width, but enough to let light seep in, casting a warm, shifting golden band across Luffy's skin.

Now, the close-fitting petticoat had completely lost its restraint, the front opening slightly with gravity. Luffy instinctively raised a hand to gather the fabric, but the gesture only made it cling more softly to the curves of his body, reflecting a sheen like honey touched by light.

Shamrock's breath caught for half a second.

His gaze was pinned by that gap. In that narrow field of vision, he could glimpse the smooth texture of Luffy's chest, the delicate beauty of his collarbones, the almost visible pulse of life racing beneath the skin.

His fingers moved toward the gap uncontrollably—

But stopped abruptly just before touching.

His knuckles hovered mid-air, trembling slightly.

In that slow, almost suspended moment of time, only the faint rustle of fabric and the nearly overlapping, barely audible breaths filled the room. Light slanted in through the high window, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air and the fine down on Luffy's cheeks, trembling gently with his steady breathing.

"…Shammy?" The unusual stillness finally piqued Luffy's curiosity. He tilted his head, trying to see the expression of the red-haired man with his head bowed so low.

"Mm."

Shamrock's head dropped even lower. Fortunately, Luffy didn't press further.

"The wedding's over now, right?"

"…"

"So when can I go home?"

Luffy waited for his answer.

This was always how Luffy was—ask a question, then look at you, eyes shining, waiting for the answer he believed would surely come. As if the world were that simple: ask and receive an answer, make a promise and keep it, say you can go home after the wedding and actually go home.

Shamrock felt something tighten in his chest. A deeper, duller pressure began creeping upward from his stomach, squeezing past his ribs, lodging in his throat.

His ignorant little wife continued carving into the Celestial Dragon with the cruelest words. "I want to leave today. It's not completely dark yet—if we set out now, we should reach—"

"You cannot leave."

Luffy stopped, blinking.

"Why? Isn't the marriage over?"

"A ship still needs to be arranged." The Celestial Dragon's voice sounded as if forced through his throat. Shamrock strained to make it sound steady and calm, entirely disconnected from the churning mass in his chest.

"Going with Grandpa doesn't require waiting for a ship, right?" At this, Luffy grew flustered again. "If we find Grandpa now, there should still be time…"

Garp.

That Vice Admiral. That Monkey D. Garp, revered by countless souls.

The coward who understood exactly what this marriage truly meant.

He had known Luffy would lose his freedom, be monitored and caged. He had known Luffy could never return to that sea. He had known the red-haired pirate would never see Luffy grown. Yet the Hero of the Marines still silently sold out his own flesh and blood, unable even to meet the child's eyes at the wedding. Garp's pain was real—Shamrock didn't doubt that. But so what? Pain changed nothing about the fact that Garp had ultimately chosen to betray Luffy. If Luffy were to hate anyone, he should be the one Luffy despised.

Perhaps Shamrock could list all of Garp's failures and neglect, all his actions that bordered on abuse—but it would mean nothing.

Because Luffy wouldn't care.

Even if Shamrock dissected Garp, laid his incompetence and weakness bare in the sunlight, proved how cheap and crude Garp's love truly was, Luffy would still love that coward who betrayed him—unreservedly, unconditionally, with a stupidity beyond measure.

Shamrock's jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as if that could suppress the burning, nauseating thing surging up from his stomach. At this moment, the monster that had been lurking in the abyss opened its dim eyes, bared its teeth—

Garp should have fought.

It said.

I should have killed him in front of Luffy.

Shamrock thought.

He heard Luffy's voice from somewhere far away, cutting through the slowly collapsing ruins in his chest. The demon saw Luffy tilting his head, brow slightly furrowed, pressing his palm gently against Shamrock's cheek.

"You've been quiet all this time—are you feeling unwell?"

He had no idea what he was doing.

Shamrock looked at him.

Those eyes, filled with a concern he'd never seen before, reflected a starving monster.

"Shammy?" Luffy called, his voice soft, puzzled. "Are you listening?"

Receiving no response, Luffy paused. Then, his arms wrapped around Shamrock's shoulders and back, pulling the man's rigid body toward himself. Shamrock's forehead pressed against that warm chest, rising and falling gently with each breath. Through the thin fabric, he could hear the beating of a heart.

"There." Luffy's fingers threaded through the neatly combed hair, over and over. His voice came from above, light as a mother's lullaby. "There, there, I’m there. It's okay. Nothing's wrong."

Shamrock's bones were melting. His blood was boiling. His reason was collapsing, shrinking to an infinitesimal point about to be extinguished.

He was drowning.

Shamrock lifted his head. They were close—close enough that he could see every curve of Luffy's lashes. In those clear eyes, he saw his own reflection—tiny, like a small boat that had finally found its anchor and come to rest.

Not enough.

The demon roared.

These eyes should hold only me—

"Feeling better?" Luffy said. "Sometimes Shanks gets like this too. Whenever I do this, he always feels better."

The hand Shamrock had resting at Luffy's side suddenly tightened.

"Shammy?!"

Shamrock didn't answer.

He no longer needed to.

The moment his fingertips truly touched that skin, Shamrock heard the beast within him release a satisfied sigh.

Luffy was too light, too fragile. He was too easily pressed down, pinned to the mattress like a butterfly, left to be caressed and fondled wantonly. Shamrock's hand traveled upward inch by inch along the lines of Luffy's body, roaming over this young, warm, faintly trembling flesh. His fingertips traced the delicate curve of his waist—a place never before touched by anyone—followed each subtle rise of bone, until finally coming to rest on the child's soft breasts. Luffy was so small that the man's broad palm could nearly cover his entire chest.

The once-smooth fabric over his chest had crumpled under the man's transgressive touch, no longer concealing anything. Shamrock tore through it with effortless ease, and the impossibly slender waist and flat chest beneath were exposed entirely to the air. Shamrock's well-defined fingers bore the calluses of years gripping sword hilts. As he stroked Luffy's tender breasts , the rough and slightly abrasive sensation made Luffy shudder, and an indescribable, ambiguous tension hung thick in the air.

Luffy was utterly stunned. His wife stared at him with fear and confusion—something clearly never encountered before. Luffy's straight-line mind couldn't comprehend why a familiar face had suddenly become so strange in this moment. The young child lacked the imagination to conceive of desire, sensing only that there was something within it he had never seen before—none of the emotions he had ever read on this face.

It was fire.

It was an abyss, slowly approaching, that he could not name.

When Shamrock's other hand began to slip beneath the hem of the skirt, Luffy finally reacted. He kicked desperately with his bare legs, trying to escape the man's grip, but like all his previous struggles, Shamrock caught his ankle with ease. Compared to a God's Knight, Luffy's strength was so small.

"Let me go…" Luffy trembled, attempting to press his legs together. "Shammy…"

"Our marriage—"

Shamrock said, parting the child's legs with ease, guiding them to wrap around his waist. A man's erect penis is horribly hard, almost as wide as Luffy's thigh. It is more like a cruel instrument of torture than a sex organ.

"Is not yet over."

"It won't… that kind of thing won't fit!" Luffy screamed, thrashing. "Don't! Please don't! It'll tear! It's too big, it doesn't belong there!"

But such struggles were far too feeble for a World Noble, The massive penis mercilessly forced apart Luffy's hip bones amidst the child's sharp cries laden with tears, ripping through and penetrating his body.

"No, stop… stop… please!"

The child gazed in terror at his lower abdomen, bulging from being pried open by the penis. If not for the Gum-Gum Fruit, Luffy's ribs would likely have snapped by now.

This was too much, beyond anything Luffy had ever encountered. Under Ace's overprotectiveness—his almost obsessive guardianship—Luffy's understanding of the world and of matters of the flesh was a complete void.

Luffy's body was fragile and pliant; Shamrock could mold him into any position he desired.

The penis thrust relentlessly inside Luffy, each plunge deeper and heavier than the last, as if determined to pierce straight through him. The child's every struggle and plea became the most powerless witnesses to this brutal atrocity, only to dissolve amidst desperate desire into fragmented moans—adding fresh fuel to the raging flames of lust.

"Why…"

Luffy whimpered, his thin, frail voice more like a gasp.

He hadn't cried like this in a long time. Ace used to call him a crybaby, but after he lost his other brother, after he grew up a little, he rarely cried anymore. Even in this strange place, he hadn't cried once.

"I,I'm sorry, Shammy, I'm sorry! I won't kiss you again—ahh!"

Luffy's voice suddenly pitched higher, his face contorted by the unfamiliar sensation of orgasm. The child's eyes were already wet with tears because of the man's perverted desires, now held a mix of pleasure and confusion in their obsidian depths. His ceaselessly struggling legs finally stopped kicking, instead cramping tighter together, instep arched taut as delicate toes curled involuntarily. A stream of crystalline fluid traced down Luffy's well-proportioned inner thigh, flowing past his knee to his calf and across the arch of his foot.

The Celestial Dragon's gaze lingered unabashedly on Luffy's youthful, unspoiled form, a horrible satisfaction welling within him as he took in the breasts marked with his own terrible bite and kiss impressions. Luffy seemed unable to process what had just happened, his face dazed and flushed as if burning with fever. He blinked slowly, his childlike, soft and moist eyes growing even more dewy. His voice became sticky and tender, saturated with a thick, watery sensuality. His youthful, tender body, before even reaching full development had already been utterly unlocked by a old man, becoming someone's wife completely.

Shamrock reached out and cupped Luffy's face in his hands, his thumb tracing the scar beneath the eye, his fingertip lightly brushing against Luffy's lashes. The usually fluffy black hair was now damp, clinging obediently to his skin. At some moment in the past, he might have viciously fantasized about gouging out those eyes, or carving away that obtrusive scar like scraping a flaw from a plaster statue. But now, as he truly touched them, all he could notice was how impossibly soft and warm that skin was. Those eyes—finally reflecting only Shamrock—were filled with watery light and damp bewilderment.

He had seen countless things that could be called beautiful—humans snatched into the Holy Land for their beauty alone, deified bodies in oil paintings, perfect forms enshrined upon altars. But none were like his little wife. Luffy was a beam of sunlight—scorching, radiant, forbidding others to gaze upon him with impure intent.

Perhaps Shamrock had wrongfully taken possession of something that belonged to another. A moment's distraction, and it would be snatched away, swept off by the rushing tides to some boundless distance, never to return to his side.

But now, he was touching such an existence. And such an existence was moaning and crying because of Shamrock.

Shamrock gripped Luffy's chin, his thumb tracing across his lower lip. With his other hand, he pried open Luffy's teeth, pulling at his cheek. If Shamrock wished, those lips would tear at any moment—but he didn't. His fingers stroked Luffy's lips as he leaned down and pressed a kiss.

"Don't…!"

Luffy thrashed violently, desperately trying to push away the red-haired man's kiss with his arms, only to have his wrists seized and forcibly pulled aside. He sobbed, tears streaming uncontrollably down his feverish cheeks.

"Don't do this thing with Shanks's face…"

Shamrock heard the sound of bones breaking.

Chapter Text

Most of the time, Garling loved his family deeply. But that did not mean he would tolerate transgressions, much less outright betrayal.

His youngest son had chosen to stir up trouble for the family and then continue rolling in the filth of the lower world, playing at being a pirate in some childish make-believe. And the ones paying the price for his sins were all the Figarlands who remained in the Holy Land.

Even though Imu-sama had made no further pronouncements on the matter, Garling remained cautious and apprehensive, living each day in gnawing dread that the divine wrath capable of annihilating everything would one day descend upon the Figarland name. If he could, Garling would give everything he had to atone for the sins Shanks had committed.

So when he learned from the CP agents accompanying the Celestial Dragon's visit to the Goa Kingdom that there existed in the impoverished East Blue a Devil Fruit user suspected of possessing rubber-like abilities, Garling seized upon that information like a drowning man clutching at a final lifeline. His keen intuition told him that this child named Luffy might be the opportunity he had been desperately waiting for—a chance to restore the Figarlands to the center of power and atone for Shanks's transgressions.

Perhaps that was where the problem lay. The arrogant and self-important World Nobles were well-practiced in underhanded dealings; abducting a child was certainly not beyond them. In the past, Garling would never have wanted to, nor would he have dared to, provoke Garp, that mad dog of the Navy—especially not after God Valley. Yet fate had decreed that Luffy's surname be Monkey, followed by that detestable D, combined with his insufferably troublesome disposition. Every last detail proved that he was the flesh and blood of Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp, not some nameless common brat.

This complicated matters considerably. If Luffy had been an ordinary commoner, a heavy bag of gold coins would have sufficed to make his parents sell their own child. Garling was willing to pay an exorbitant price for the value this child carried. If money couldn't buy him, well, Garling was also quite adept at killing—the filthy blood wouldn't even stain his hands. There were countless commoners in the lower world groveling for just a crumb of favor falling from the World Nobles' fingers. A single glance from a Celestial Dragon could make them willingly hand over their own children, let alone steal someone else's. But neither approach would work against Garp.

In truth, Garling had never quite understood how Garp had managed to walk away from God Valley unscathed and still retain a high-ranking position in the Navy—not to mention the D in his name. Once, they had been hunted nearly to extinction; now, a D was hailed as a hero, swaggering in and out of Navy branches across the seas, killing on the battlefield for those who had once hunted his kind.

Perhaps the spectacle was so absurdly comical that Imu-sama chose to tolerate it—Garling had speculated as much, though he had no solid evidence to confirm it. On this point, Garling admitted that he could not claim to truly understand the being he had served his entire life. Rather than probe for the truth, he knew all too well that unnecessary curiosity and prying would only cost a man his life. Fortunately, Garp had ultimately chosen to remain a Vice Admiral, refusing further promotion. Celestial Dragons and a Navy Vice Admiral naturally had little to do with one another, so this inexplicable leniency had faded into the recesses of his memory—until Monkey D. Luffy appeared in his field of vision.

The euphoria of a chance to cleanse the family's disgrace had not blinded Garling. As Shamrock had pointed out, would his traitorous son, whose mind had been poisoned by playing pirate games, truly leave that fruit so carelessly with a defenseless child? Yet Garling was not unaware of tales where pirates stashed treasure in some place only to retrieve it years later. From that perspective, having some unrelated child consume the Nika fruit was radical and risky, but it was also exactly the sort of scheme a pirate might devise. After all, had he not seen it with his own eyes, Garling would never have believed that some country brat possessed the power of the Nika fruit.

Viewed in this light, the truth seemed clear enough. Under normal circumstances, Garling would have long since presented Luffy to Imu-sama. But circumstances were far from normal now. Shanks had pushed everything to a precarious edge. There were far too many Devil Fruits in the world with similar properties, and Garling knew better than anyone the consequences of presenting a child only to have it discovered that the fruit he possessed was not the one they sought. He also understood better than anyone what glory awaited if it was.

Garling did indeed need more caution and time to ascertain the truth, but opportunity was fleeting. Before that, he had to keep that opportunity firmly within his grasp, close at hand, to prevent it from being stolen by other Celestial Dragons or—worse—by some despicable pirate. Greed was a common trait shared by pirates and Celestial Dragons alike. No Celestial Dragon would willingly hand over a treasure; no pirate buried treasure with the intention of letting another claim it. When faced with something of immeasurable worth, the highest and the lowest beings in this world displayed a remarkably unified nature.

Figarland Garling firmly believed that the Celestial Dragon who had fallen to piracy would return to the East Blue in the near future to retrieve what he had left behind.

He had to act before Shanks could ruin everything again.

This was a gamble with everything at stake—either obtain it all, or lose it all.

Excessive caution and cowardice were separated by a hair's breadth. Garling had never been a coward tripped up by hesitation. Even if the stakes of this gamble meant pushing the Naval Hero into open opposition, he would still seize his final chip with an unyielding grip—that child, Monkey D. Luffy.

But boldness did not mean recklessness. Considering the fury that would burn toward the Celestial Dragons should the old Vice Admiral conduct his own investigation and uncover the truth, it was better to strike preemptively than to passively await the consequences. A marriage overseen by his finest son served as the perfect solution.

Though fundamentally no different, the title of "spouse" was undeniably more palatable than "slave" or "prisoner."

It would be better still if the old Vice Admiral accepted the olive branch extended by a Celestial Dragon. If he remained enraged, then once the speculation was confirmed, Garling would present the child who had consumed the Nika fruit to Imu-sama. The excessive leniency toward Garp—the very thing that had given Garling pause—would cease to exist. Before the might of a god, even a hero as renowned as Garp would be powerless. Even if the speculation remained unconfirmed for years to come, and Garp stubbornly pressed to reclaim his kin, even going so far as to bring the matter before Imu-sama, the marriage to a Celestial Dragon would serve as the perfect pretext to keep the child in the Holy Land.

Everything went smoothly. The Naval Hero's reaction to his relative's misfortune was far less intense than anticipated. After accepting this unequal marriage, he slunk out of the Holy Land like a whipped cur. Garling had obtained what he wanted without loss.

Everything was spiraling out of control.

Sommers's visit came on an unremarkable afternoon, without warning. Garling knew there had been whispers throughout the Holy Land about the Figarlands' unusual movements. Even with its designation as a sacred sanctuary, Mary Geoise was ultimately nothing more than a small city built upon the Red Line. No matter how meticulously they guarded their secrets, the confined space would inevitably amplify every inadvertent trace left exposed—and countless eyes were fixed on the Figarlands, waiting to tear flesh from them. Sommers was simply the first to lose patience; he had always been fond of prying into others' private affairs, finding amusement in the cracks of other people's lives.

What truly unsettled Garling was the silent shadow walking alongside Sommers.

Gunko.

Sommers's arrival had been within expectation. But Gunko? That woman rarely participated in the Celestial Dragons' social games. She was taciturn, kept to herself, and never wasted words beyond what was required for her missions. Her presence here was an anomaly in itself, let alone her connection to Imu-sama.

Even now, seated in the reception room, she merely held a teacup at a slight distance, neither engaging in conversation nor making any gesture that could be interpreted as interest—as if the entire affair had nothing to do with her.

But Garling knew she missed nothing. He did not know what she was thinking, what she had noticed, or how she would process whatever she had observed. He could not anticipate Gunko. Her very presence was a threat.

"Excuse me for a moment," Gunko said, setting down the teacup that had never once touched her lips.

Garling raised a hand and signaled to the servant standing in the corner. The servant understood and followed after her.

Gunko said nothing more. She turned and walked toward the door, gliding across the reception room floor like a black shadow. The servant closed the door behind her, following her steps down the corridor and around a side passage. But when the servant turned the corner, the corridor was empty.

Realizing he had lost her, the servant stood frozen, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. That side passage had only one path, ending at a small door leading to the garden. He hurried to the door, pushed it open, and found the garden beyond empty—not a soul in sight.

The infiltration was far easier than anticipated. Gunko hummed a tune as she walked down a quiet corridor, evading guards and Den Den Mushi with unhurried ease. The pathetic surveillance Garling had arranged was nothing more than children's play in Gunko's eyes. The melody cycling through her earpiece reminded her of Sommers's words from earlier.

"Hasn't Shamrock been acting a bit strange lately?"

Sommers had said. Receiving no reply, he raised his voice and repeated himself.

"Don't you think so, Gunko?"

Gunko still did not respond, but Sommers paid it no mind. He had long grown accustomed to his colleague's indifferent demeanor. "Look at him now. His heart has been completely hollowed out. I'd bet he's plucking petals for divination. If this keeps up, all the flowers in Mary Geoise will be done for."

"Shamrock wouldn't do that."

"I know."

He had finally succeeded in making Gunko turn her head. Those usually lowered eyes rested on his face, still expressionless.

"How do you know it's a person?"

Sommers blinked, then laughed.

"Gunko, Gunko," he shook his head. "If Shammy heard that, he'd give you that look you always give when someone says something stupid. But you might be right. Maybe it's a cat? Did he get a cat?"

"Because if it were a person, wouldn't that be the future Figarland bride?" Sommers's smile deepened. "I'd vote for them in the Holy Land's Sweetest Couple contest."

Sommers drew out his words. "Someone who could make Shamrock like that must be very interesting. I'd love to meet them..."

"Garling isn't exactly a subtle man. If there really were a future Figarland bride, the Holy Land would be buzzing. It's Shamrock we're talking about! When word gets out, who knows how many ladies' hearts will break. Watching those pampered noble ladies suffer for love... just thinking about it is moving! Tragic love is the best!... Gunko, don't turn your head away."

"Then go see for yourself."

"What?"

Sommers's twisted smile froze. He stared at Gunko, trying to read her expression.

"You're curious, aren't you? Talking about it endlessly here is pointless. Better to see with your own eyes."

"I want to meet the person who made Shamrock like this."

Sommers opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked at Gunko for a long moment, then spoke in an almost entirely different voice:

"Is this your will? Or..."

Bathed in Gunko's silent gaze, the unfinished words lodged in his throat. Sommers raised his hands in surrender. "No, don't tell me. I'll go with you."

"Consider it for the sake of all the flowers in Mary Geoise."

That had been his self-convincing mutter, the final words from Sommers in Gunko's memory.

What brought Gunko's idle wandering to a halt was a closed door. This area was some distance from the main building, usually seeing little foot traffic, yet guards had suddenly been added one day. From that day onward, Shamrock had also begun frequenting this place.

Sommers was right. Anyone with eyes could see that Figarland Shamrock's heart had been completely occupied. Everyone could see that he no longer followed his former patterns of life; given the chance, he would only hurry back to his own domain.

Unlike Sommers, Gunko had no interest in prying into others' private affairs, nor did she care who the object of Shamrock's affections was. Celestial Dragons pillaging the lower world was commonplace. All sorts of people were brought to the Holy Land as gifts or spoils for various families. Those with exceptional looks would be locked in ornate rooms, waiting to become some noble's concubine or plaything—to a Celestial Dragon, a slave was a slave. They did not care where the meat on their plate came from, nor how the slave was acquired. This was part of the fabric that made up Mary Geoise. No one paid it any mind, and no one bothered to hide it.

What Gunko needed to know was why Garling would go so far as to risk suspicion to conceal the one Shamrock had fallen for—if that person even existed.

Celestial Dragons placed great importance on family. Regarding Figarland Shanks's betrayal, rumors had long circulated among those in the know that Garling had secretly colluded with pirates, ordering Shanks to steal the fruit. But lacking evidence to confirm it, they remained just rumors.

Gunko had a strong premonition that she was standing before the door to the truth.

The door opened a crack without a sound. The room was small but immaculately clean. The thick, soft carpet would cushion any fall. Aside from that, the furnishings were rather sparse. Amid this tranquil scene, Gunko's gaze was effortlessly captured by the figure within.

The slender treasure hidden away by the Celestial Dragon lay reclined on a settee within this man-made nest. Black hair slightly tousled, breathing even and slow. Warm light slanted in through the window, striking the soft fabric of his clothing and scattering into a white glow. It was a thin sleeping gown that reached the ankles, with pleats at the hem and simple lace trimming the collar. It hung loose at the shoulders, the sleeves long enough to cover the wrists, leaving only fingertips exposed. The white bandages were nearly indistinguishable from the sleeve from a distance.

He looked like a wisp of mist, or perhaps a mirage formed by light. All the rare treasures of the world paled in comparison; a burning radiance almost seared Gunko's eyes.

Gunko knew that with a gentle push, that door would swing fully open. And once it was open, she could—

"Gunko."

The voice came from behind, stiffening Gunko's spine.

The red-haired man stood at the other end of the corridor, posture straight as a blade planted in the ground. The afternoon light streamed from behind him, shrouding his face in shadow, his expression unreadable.

Gunko slowly withdrew her hand, her gaze sweeping over his hand resting on Cerberus's hilt. Shamrock seemed utterly unaware of her attention, stepping forward with an air of nonchalance to close the ajar door. "You're lost. This isn't the reception room."

"Shall I escort you there?"

Gunko said nothing. Shamrock took a few steps back and glanced at her. In the end, Gunko tugged down the brim of her hat and followed. The two walked one behind the other in silence, without a single exchange, as though the entire incident in the corridor had never happened.

The silence held until they reached the reception room. Sommers stood at the entrance, his gaze lingering on Shamrock's face for a moment before shifting to Gunko behind him. "Oh, Gunko, you're back? I was just wondering whether to wait for you before leaving."

He turned back to Shamrock. "You ran into Gunko?"

"She took a wrong turn. I escorted her back."

"Much appreciated. Garling was just fretting that Gunko might have gotten lost—seems his worry was unfounded. But since Gunko's back, I won't impose any longer. Shall we, Gunko?"

With that, he brushed an invisible speck of dust from his attire and strode off. Gunko followed quietly. Only when the Figarland palace had vanished from view did Sommers speak again, his demeanor uncharacteristically serious.

"Well? Do we need to act?"

Gunko shook her head. Sommers let out a breath of relief. "Garling's been overwhelmed with that matter lately, but he's no fool like those Donquixote idiots. Even at his worst, he wouldn't stoop to fraternizing with common scum from the lower world. One God's Knight defecting is enough. If the blade of the gods turned on itself over a misunderstanding like this..."

He trailed off. "To be honest, I don't know which is more alarming—the captain of the God's Knights turning traitor, or Shamrock falling in love."

Perhaps relieved of a burden, his languid drawl returned. "That said, it seems we haven't missed the wedding." He shrugged. "Our Garling doesn't exactly approve of this romance."

"Though—he doesn't seem to oppose it outright, either. After all, the more a love is opposed, the more fiercely it burns. Ah, the tragic infatuations of youth..." Sommers's usual, unsettling smile spread without restraint. "Once Shamrock tires of her, what will become of her? Just thinking about it is fascinating. I'd love to see her... I'm sure you feel the same, Gunko."

"Mm."

Gunko ignored the contortion of Sommers's face, murmuring instead, "You were right. That person is indeed very interesting."

"Gunko, you—you saw her?" Sommers's pitch rose sharply. "Is she beautiful? How does she compare to Boa Hancock?"

"Very beautiful."

Gunko answered absently. Seeing her distracted state, Sommers seemed to understand.

"Gunko-chan, do you know how many people go missing in Mary Geoise each year?" He laughed. "Don't look at me like that. I'm just saying—if you really want her, you should speak with our master soon. Imu-sama dotes on you, and Garling likely wouldn't mind handing over a little slave..."

"Will you marry me, Mrs. Figarland? Will you abandon your husband and marry me instead?" He mimicked some odd, unfamiliar intonation, growing more animated, until at last he almost laughed out loud.

Gunko was silent for so long that Sommers thought she might not answer at all.

"...Do you know about a ring?"

She finally asked, and then paid no further attention to Sommers's chatter.

Unlike Sommers, who had only scraps of secondhand information, Gunko understood better than anyone the radiance and fragility of that treasure. For it to exist only as the fleeting fancy of a young man's momentary passion would be too great a waste. If someday he abandoned it, the line of suitors would break down the Figarlands' doors. That was how the world worked: a treasure forgotten by one keeper would be rediscovered by another. Gunko would not be the first, nor the last. Left unattended, eventually that child would simply vanish into the depths of Mary Geoise, disappearing from the world altogether.

But would that day truly come?

Even if only for an instant, Gunko had clearly seen something that should not exist, suddenly appearing on that translucent child's hand.

Even now, that fleeting figure swallowed by the four-walled nest pursued Gunko's unsettled heart, stirring up terrible waves within her chest. Gunko vaguely understood the red-haired Celestial Dragon.

Chapter Text

Shamrock wanted a ring.

Nobles, to varying degrees, all possessed their private collections. In this regard, the Celestial Dragons who styled themselves gods were no different from the common people of the lower world. Jewelry and ornaments were a common category of such collections. Most pieces, once their owner's fleeting interest faded, would be shelved and eventually forgotten. A small few, however, would be worn ostentatiously. Unfortunately, the Celestial Dragons' understanding of beauty stopped at adorning themselves with elaborate, lavish accessories until they resembled festival trees hung with colorful lanterns. The precious jewels of the day would end up piled together with no aesthetic sensibility whatsoever.

Though not exactly slovenly, Figarland Shamrock could be called casual compared to those Celestial Dragons who possessed an extraordinary obsession with outward appearances. He admitted he had little talent in this area. Other Celestial Dragons would fly into rages over flaws that might or might not exist, but Shamrock truly could not distinguish the difference between gems that, aside from their cutting techniques, appeared largely the same to him. Commoners would never dare to offer inferior substitutes as tribute to the Celestial Dragons. No matter how varied the types of tribute that entered Mary Geoise as Heavenly Tribute, their quality was invariably the finest. Finding a ring among them would hardly be difficult.

Yet the wedding had been so crude it lacked even a ring.

One of Garling's concessions—a concession that could only be called shameful—had irreversibly shaped that wedding. Bigamy was common enough in the Holy Land. World Nobles typically had more than one sexual slave. But marriages between Celestial Dragons remained sacred and full of value. Shamrock was handsome, nobly born, held a high position in the God's Knights at a young age, and had no unsavory reputation for consorting with slaves. He had always been a popular marriage prospect. Even the dullest fool could see the immense value attached to him. Garling had always been cautious with his children's marriages, only playing this card when it could maximize the benefits.

The old Figarland's intentions were plain for all to see, and Shamrock himself had no objection. There were naturally conflicts of interest among World Nobles; marriage alliances were a common method of accumulating wealth and currying favor with other families. Celestial Dragon marriages were all for this purpose. Decisions beneficial to both the newlyweds and their families were not worth opposing. Perhaps playing the role of husband might be a bit troublesome, but Shamrock's status meant he did not need to condescend to win his wife's favor. As for love? Marriages without love were commonplace. How many marriages in this world actually contained love? Shamrock had never loved anyone, nor had anyone ever loved him. Before absolute interest, that illusory human emotion called love was far too insignificant, never permitted to be born.

His abstinence from carousing wasn’t born of moral purity. He simply found such behavior idiotic, and debasing oneself to do the same stupid things as fools was even more idiotic. A Celestial Dragon consorting with lower-world commoners—the very thought was nauseating. The marriage to Luffy was a compromise born of reality and necessity. The shrewd, calculating elder Celestial Dragon's mind was still full of schemes to sell off his heir's marriage for a satisfactory price. The wedding was merely a formality to shut the Vice Admiral's mouth. Of course he would not prepare anything for it, least of all a ring.

Even if there had been a ring, it could not have made this flimsy trap seem credible. It remained so crude that anyone with eyes could see through it. Garp was naturally no exception, yet he had still accepted it in silence. Shamrock wondered whether Garling regretted his overly convoluted methods after witnessing the Naval Hero's humiliating retreat. The child caught in the middle, however, had no inkling that he had fallen into a terrifying whirlpool. He was still doing everything he could to fill every hollow within his sight.

Shamrock could not stop thinking about that ring.

The ring Luffy had made was too small. Even without the barrier of gloves, it would have been impossible to wear. And besides, it had long since dried out under the passage of time. Those fine, nearly broken fibers trembled in the air; the slightest force would shatter it into dust.

As fragile as its creator.

Life after that incident was like a restless, unsettling dream, and Shamrock simply threw every last shred of his will into not thinking about what had happened then.

Immature body what is far from reaching the age of sexual intercourse simply cannot endure such brutal intercourse. The Celestial Dragon’s abuse does not stop because of his resistance, nor does it end as his consciousness fades.The pure, untainted wedding dress was ravaged into a meaningless tattered rag. Delicate skin was covered in bruises and hickeys, with almost no area left untouched. Slender legs left weak and open from the adult's rape, unconsciously twitching, and the area between thighs stained messy with semen. Anyone who sees this horrific sight can realize what terrible treatment this young child had endured.

Yet every single person kept their heads bowed low. A single sidelong glance from a Celestial Dragon was enough to set them trembling uncontrollably, let alone the notion of stepping forward to voice any accusation.

How normal it was to vent one's desires on those of lower status. Who would blame a god for such a thing?

The injury to Luffy's hand was simple enough to treat—Shamrock's training had equipped him to handle far more troublesome wounds than this. Yet he summoned the doctors all the same, doing everything within his power to ensure his unfortunate wife received the finest medical care available. Just as any dutiful husband would. Just as though he were not the very cause of it all.

He truly wanted to know what that thing was that he was trying so hard not to notice. It swelled slowly somewhere in his chest, like a seed soaked in water—rootless yet relentlessly expanding, occupying the space that should have held air, making each breath harder than the last. Work was the only anesthetic he could seek, yet the life he had once taken for granted had become a dull numbness. Only when he drew close to his wife did he feel, fleetingly, as if he had come back to life.

When Shamrock pushed open the door, the child—just barely stirred awake from that harrowing ordeal—was stroking his fingers lightly over a belly already restored to flatness. Luffy watched as Shamrock crossed the room and settled into the chair beside him, a chair placed there expressly for the red-haired man.

The Celestial Dragon set the tray of food down on the small table, thoughtfully cutting everything into manageable, bite-sized pieces with knife and fork before lifting the first morsel to the child's lips. He took satisfaction in being his wife's caretaker. In the past, housework had been an impossibility for a World Noble; now, he devoutly cleaned their newlywed room. Luffy did not eat quickly, but neither did he show any overt signs of refusing food or starving himself. Shamrock could not decide whether this was a mercy or an omen. The child's calm unnerved him more than he'd anticipated—he felt like a condemned prisoner waiting for the blade to drop. Still, that Luffy was willing to eat at all had to be a good sign. He fed Luffy every last bite, bit by bit, and then gathered the utensils back onto the tray. He counted them—every knife and fork—making certain not a single sharp edge had gone missing.

"It's so stuffy in here," Luffy said. The child's voice made Shamrock's movements falter. Luffy pointed at the tall window. The wide sleeve of his gown slid down his arm, and the sight of the bandage on his wrist along with the lingering marks on his arm stirred an inexplicable irritation in Shamrock. "Can you open it?"

"No."

"Why not? It's not like I'll fly out."

"This kind of window is only for lighting. It cannot be opened."

Shamrock's tone was blunt, and the conversation naturally ground to a halt. Yet he didn't intend to leave just yet. He reached out and gently touched Luffy's bandaged wrist.

"You need regular dressing changes. Until you're fully healed, you can't move around like before."

Shamrock skillfully omitted a certain word he was reluctant to mention.

Thanks to that thing, Luffy would be unable to pick up anything for a long time to come—not that it was really necessary. Every object in the room that could possibly harm his wife had been removed, and even the corners of the furniture had been meticulously sanded smooth. Garling might not care about the violence inflicted upon the child, but he could not ignore factors that might destroy everything Shamrock had invested and the future he wanted. In the past, the child had been allowed to roam within designated areas with Shamrock's tacit permission. Now, even brief contact with sharp utensils that might cut him during meals was forbidden—and Shamrock had not yet figured out how to explain this to his wife.

"Don't be so careful," Luffy said, flinching slightly at Shamrock's sudden closeness. But soon, with the same childlike, optimistic certainty as before, he continued, "It'll heal fast." He offered a strained smile, and as if to prove his point, he waved his hand. The bandage traced a white arc through the air.

Shamrock was not infected by his mood. His gaze remained fixed, almost entranced, on that stark, blinding white of the bandage—as though his entire soul had somehow come to dwell within its wrappings. Today, the red-haired noble had shed the uniform of the God's Knights. A simple white shirt hung from his shoulders, and his customary black gloves were nowhere to be seen. Dressed with such spare ease, he looked less like a Celestial Dragon and more like a pirate than he ever had before.

That resemblance made Luffy want to frown. That was Shanks's face. That was Shamrock's face. Clearly different, yet the same. Shamrock's expression made them look even more alike. He had seen that expression before—on Shanks's face, after Luffy had stabbed his own cheek with a knife.

Luffy didn't understand why that expression was there.

Grandpa had said that pirates were all bad people. The village chief would get angry when Luffy played with pirates. Makino never took her eyes off them. Even though Shanks sometimes acted like a child, he never hurt Luffy. Neither did Shanks's crew. Shanks was a good person. Shanks's crew were good people. And Shammy, who didn't talk much but always looked after Luffy and gave him food, was also a good person.

Even now, pain still occupied his body. The slightest movement brought a tearing agony. Yet Luffy still believed that.

Violence filled Luffy's life. From Grandpa's iron fist to Ace's senseless rejection. Shamrock's way was something new to him, but it wasn't any different. Luffy was used to it. He wasn't insensitive to pain. In the past, he would cry when cut by a knife. Now, whether hit by a fist, stabbed by a blade, or struck by a stick, he tried not to cry anymore. Luffy was going to become the Pirate King. He couldn't cry over something like this.

Shamrock was a good person, a good guy, a good kid. He was Luffy's friend, his nakama, his crewmate. He was Shanks's brother, Shanks's family. Luffy must have messed up somehow, which was why Shamrock had gotten so angry—angry enough to want to kill Luffy.

What had Luffy messed up?

He thought of that kiss.

If Shammy was angry about that, then why had he kissed Luffy back?

Kissing was something only people who loved each other did. He had seen them in town—holding hands, linking arms, wearing happy smiles, kissing each other, and a few months later a baby would appear. Luffy didn't want a baby. He didn't know how to take care of such a weak and tiny life. And Shamrock never let Luffy hold his hand. Even if Luffy stood on tiptoe, he could barely hook his arm through Shamrock's. At the wedding, when they had to kiss, Luffy had carefully avoided the lips and only kissed the corner of the mouth.

The wedding...

The strangeness he had ignored before now rushed back, mixing with a dull ache, lapping against Luffy like waves.

Luffy had married Shamrock because he knew Grandpa wouldn't give up. If he didn't go along with it, he would never go home, never become a pirate. Then why had Shamrock married Luffy?

Luffy rarely thought about things so hard, but he racked his brains and still couldn't find the answer.

The Shamrock in front of him now was the Shamrock he knew—the safe Shamrock. Safe enough that Luffy could actually voice the question aloud. But Shamrock gave no reaction at all, his silence so absolute it made you wonder if he'd been too absorbed in staring at those bandages to even hear his wife's words. Only after a long, long moment did he finally speak.

"It was a family arrangement."

His voice scraped out of him like that of a man who hadn't spoken in ages, as if forcing the words into sound was an immense ordeal in itself. He didn't ask for Luffy's reasons, nor did he lift his head—as if that were the only way to keep from being crushed under the weight of it all.

"...I'll arrange for you to be moved to a room with better ventilation later."

"Mm... but I'm gonna be leaving soon anyway, right?"

"Why?"

"Why would you leave?"

The Celestial Dragon was nearly interrogating him now. He struggled to keep his voice as composed as it had always been, but the hysteria bleeding through was impossible to mask.

His wife flinched, just a little. The man's actions had, irreversibly, made his wife more sensitive. And yet Luffy still held onto that naive, unguarded trust—believing that if he could just make things clear to the other victim trapped in this wretched marriage, the promise would be kept. "Makino and Dadan must be really worried about me by now... and Ace too. We already promised we'd each set out to sea on our own, but Ace always gets like this."

"Portgas has already left home and gone to sea."

Luffy's already round eyes went rounder still. "What're you talking about? Ace promised me we'd both go out when we turned seventeen."

"He left." Shamrock repeated the words flatly.

"Ace wouldn't do that."

"I know you may not believe anything I tell you... but Luffy, have you never once considered whether you truly understand the people you think you know?" Shamrock's words carried a pointed weight. "My brother never once spoke to you of his origins, did he?"

Shamrock leaned closer, deliberately drawing Luffy nearer. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, baring the skin beneath—skin that bore a mark. A mark Luffy had seen before.

"And he never told you where this came from, did he?" Shamrock paused, as though waiting for Luffy to speak. "Was he the one who told you the name 'Gomu Gomu no Mi'? That Devil Fruit he stole and then you ate."

"Shanks would never steal!"

The words had clearly struck a nerve. Luffy nearly shouted it, bristling with fierce defense of the red-haired pirate, but Shamrock remained unhurried.

"I had thought he intended to eat it himself. I never imagined he'd be cowardly enough to let a child shoulder it all instead..."

"Shanks is not a coward! He didn't eat it... he didn't eat it 'cause then he wouldn't be able to swim. Shanks is a pirate! Pirates all can swim." By the end, Luffy sounded as though he were trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

"Have you ever met another Devil Fruit user? Ability users may be rare in the East Blue, but they're countless in the Grand Line. Many pirates are Devil Fruit users—whether or not they can swim hardly matters."

"He knew perfectly well how dangerous it is for an ability user in such a remote place, and yet he still abandoned you and fled, without even telling you any of this."

"He didn't abandon me! We made a promise—once I become a great pirate, I'm gonna give his hat back to him."

"And where, exactly, is that hat you keep talking about? Where is Shanks? How exactly do you plan to find him in this vast, endless sea?"

Luffy was at a loss for words.

"On one point, you're absolutely right, Luffy. He truly isn't much of a thief—what he did could hardly be called stealing. Robbery is more accurate. But think about it: plundering treasure is instinct for a pirate like him. That's why, when faced with the Devil Fruit you ate, he didn’t hesitate to steal it, even at the cost of being disowned by the family."

"Disowned...?"

"More than that. His position among the God's Knights was stripped away as well, on account of the crimes committed by Figarland Shanks." The man's tongue lingered a long, deliberate moment on that last syllable, as though biting the name right out of the air. "Once, he dreamed of claiming a seat there. He gave a great deal in pursuit of that dream—the scar on his face came from that very effort. Did he ever mention any of this to you?"

"No... but that can't be true! Shanks is a pirate, he grew up on a ship..."

"Is that so..." Shamrock studied him with an unreadable expression. When Luffy saw what the red-haired Celestial Dragon held out to him, the cruel weight of reality finally crushed down on the trembling child. It was an old, somewhat faded photograph. Two figures with identical features, both wearing the same severe expression. The younger noble stood ramrod straight, the conspicuous scar on his face the sole mark distinguishing him from the man beside him. He was a far cry from the red-haired pirate Luffy knew, and yet he was the exact same person.

Why do people have two faces?

Luffy didn't understand. The only answer he received was the cold gaze of the young Shanks staring back at him from the photograph.

"In order to erase the stain of having lived as a pirate in the lower world, he threw himself into the God's Knights' missions with relentless enthusiasm, dreaming of earning enough merit to reclaim a place in the family. After that incident, the family branded him a traitor. Everything connected to him was disposed of—save for this photograph. But I imagine this will suffice."

"That's not how it is! Shanks loves being a pirate!"

"The scar on his face was an injury sustained during a mission. If what you say is true, then he's nothing but a liar—a traitor who played a part for his own greed and deceived his own family."

"Shanks doesn't lie! And he's not a traitor!"

"Then why didn't he bring the Devil Fruit back? That fruit was all he needed to realize his dream. Had he brought it back then, he would have attained the status he craved—instead of ending up armless, cast out by his family, unable to ever return home."

"Because—because..." Luffy's voice faltered, trembling. "Because I ate it... and Shanks lost his arm because of me—"

The fruit that had meant everything to Shanks was now inside Luffy. Because Luffy had eaten it like it was just some snack. Was it because Luffy had eaten it that Shanks lost his family? But even then, Shanks had still come to save Luffy—and lost the arm he used to swing his sword because of it.

It wasn’t Shanks who destroyed Shanks’s dream.

Luffy's stomach twisted into knots. For the first time in his life, he felt an overwhelming, visceral urge to vomit.

"This isn't your fault, Luffy."

"Of course he saved you. After all, at that moment, you—having eaten the fruit—were the only way for him to return to the Holy Land. Otherwise, he would have had to search for the fruit all over again after it had regenerated somewhere unknown following its previous owner's death..." Shamrock said. "Think about it. If you were truly so important to him that he would sacrifice an arm, then why didn't he take you with him? He, more than anyone, knew exactly how dangerous your situation was."

"No... that's not... I didn't want to go." Luffy's chest heaved. The confidence with which he argued back seemed to be crumbling away. "I made Shanks get hurt really bad and lose his arm. If I got on his ship, Shanks would've gotten hurt even worse. He could've died... I didn't want that. I didn't want Shanks to die..."

"Luffy, Shanks is far stronger than you imagine. He wouldn't die just because of you. But he still left you behind. He left you all alone." Shamrock quietly took hold of the child's hand, his expression darkening into something unreadable. "Shanks is like that. Portgas is like that. Everyone else is like that. Whether you're there or not makes no difference to them—that's why they can abandon you so easily. Even if you went back, the people you want wouldn't be waiting for you... But I can give you everything you want—"

"Go... go away," Luffy struggled, as though this were the only way to shield his heart from the anguish—though his heart had long since ached beyond bearing. Secret, endless, silent tears were on the verge of tearing him apart. "Stop saying bad things about Shanks! You bad guy! Bad kid!"

"……"

Shamrock stopped. Luffy, thinking that the man had truly been hurt by the words that had slipped out, instinctively wanted to comfort him. In his fluster, the presence cradled in his palm—something vague and indistinct, blunted by layers of gauze and bandages—suddenly sharpened into unmistakable clarity.

"Have you never once wondered who exactly brought you here? …Who it was that sold you to this place?"

The man's unhurried words slithered across the child's skin. He took his wife's hand, holding it with a carefully measured grip—firm enough to keep Luffy from pulling free, gentle enough not to hurt him. Bewildered, the child passively let the Celestial Dragon take the object from his palm. Only when Shamrock moved to slide it onto his finger did Luffy finally see what it truly was. All color drained from his face.

It was a ring.

Luffy had never fully grasped what a ring was meant to mean. But he'd seen them before—among pirates' spoils, in Ace's and Sabo's treasure chests, on the hands of those lovers who wore happy smiles.

Luffy understood what Shamrock had meant by the family arrangement. Sabo had once said that if he didn't obey his family arrangement and marry someone he didn't love, then Sabo would be a useless waste. But Sabo wasn't a waste—he was Luffy's brother. And Shamrock wasn't a waste—he was Luffy's Shammy. It was marrying Luffy that had stolen Shamrock's freedom. That was why he was so miserable.

"Don't…" Luffy flinched, desperately trying to pull his hand back, but it was held fast. He'd never been a match for the man's strength, least of all now. "That's not what Shammy thinks, right?"

"It's enough already. The wedding's over. You don't have to do this anymore…"

Luffy was nearly pleading.

"Give it to your wife."

Give it to the person Shammy truely loves.

Marriage, like kissing, was something only people who loved each other were supposed to do. Luffy had married Shamrock so he could go home. Shamrock had married Luffy because of his family's arrangement. They weren't lovers. They didn't love each other. And yet they'd gotten married. That was why everything hurt so much.

But the wedding was over now. Once Luffy set sail and left, Shamrock would be free. And his free little wife hoped earnestly that this sad, shipwrecked soul before him could find his freedom, too. He wished for Shamrock to be with the person he truly loved, and no longer miserable.

Shamrock was burning alive, but Luffy couldn't see the flames.

"I truly regret that Shanks couldn't be here to witness our wedding… After all, it was his arrangement that brought us together."

The Celestial Dragon's tone might have passed for regretful—if only his eyes hadn't remained fixed, unblinking, upon his wife. Perhaps then it might have sounded more convincing.

Luffy stared at Shamrock blankly, as though utterly incapable of parsing the meaning of what he'd just heard. Maybe he wanted to say something. But he'd forgotten how to make sound. His lips quivered. The faint syllables his tongue pieced together dissolved feebly into the air.

The struggling stopped.

With something approaching reverence, Shamrock slid the simple, unadorned ring—the sort of trinket any Celestial Dragon would toss aside as worthless garbage without a second thought—onto his wife's slender finger. The cold, pitifully small band pressed flush against the child's warm, soft skin, drinking in its heat. It fit as though it had been made for this from the very start. Just as he had foreseen.

"For better, for worse…"

Echoing words half-remembered from a hazy recollection, Shamrock's voice was slow and solemn.

"For richer, for poorer…"

Luffy was right. The wedding was over. The farce's only audience had fled. There was no longer any need for Shamrock to pretend, to play the part of a husband.

And yet that ravenous seed lodged deep in his chest kept gnawing at him, driving him onward, until it finally throttled him.

"In sickness and in health…"

Shamrock did not believe in fate.

As a wife, Luffy was destined to be killed. Whether by virtue of being a Lower-Worlder, a D, or simply bearing the name Monkey—Monkey D. Luffy's very existence was a flaw, a blemish that marred the Figarland name and diminished its worth. To anyone else, the child's value began and ended with the Devil Fruit he had consumed. The moment that value was extracted, he would be callously discarded and put to death. The Celestial Dragons would never tolerate a flaw that tarnished their treasure. Only Shamrock knew that even the world's greatest treasure could never be worthy of his Luffy. His wife was a sun—real, tangible, within human reach—sent by fate to settle beside a Celestial Dragon, ensuring Shamrock would never again know peace.

And a sun was destined to be extinguished.

They wouldn't let him die. And they would never allow him to truly live. Having consumed the Nika fruit, Luffy's future was to hover perpetually at the boundary between life and death, confined to a space no bigger than a cage until the sea swallowed everything. Only then, perhaps, would Shamrock finally be permitted to wipe the blood from his wife's face and slide this ring onto the child's lifeless hand.

Could his brother, whose brain had been pickled by alcohol, truly not see these foreseeable consequences?

Or was this simply fate? Because of a single fruit eaten by chance, his wife was expected to care, to save, to sacrifice his life for people he had never met. He was meant to bear the cost before anything had even happened, to die for a predetermined fate.

Could all the deception, all the lies, all the unnoticed, predetermined fate be forgiven in the name of sacrifice and redemption?

Was any of this truly Luffy's will?

Luffy wasn't the cause of any of this. He was neither the beginning nor the end. Why should he have to care that somewhere far away, countless nameless, faceless souls were being slaughtered? He shouldn't have to endure such pain and sorrow. And he certainly shouldn't have to die for it.

Every time Shamrock gazed upon that sun, this thought burrowed into his skull like a maggot gnawing at bone, never to be shaken loose, hounding him for all eternity.

"Till death do us part."

It was almost a prayer.