Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shanks strode through the terminal with a grin. He had exactly thirty minutes before he was required back in the flight deck, and there was no power in the heavens that would make him drink the sludge from the staff room machine because it was a mechanical insult to his profession. Therefore, he needed a proper flat white from his favourite kiosk, or the next six hours of his life would be a tragedy.

And if he seemed a bit much for a Tuesday morning—too loud and far too pleased with himself—it was only because he was a First Officer.

The thing was that some people assumed Shanks was some glorified errand boy who fetched the Captain’s slippers, and that was absolute rubbish. He was a First Officer—a maritime term, like a chief officer on a ship. In their two-man crew, he was a vital half of the brain.

You know what? Actually, the media loved to get it wrong, calling men like him ‘pilot’s assistants’ as if they could not fly. On the next leg, he might be the Pilot Flying, meaning he would be the one wrestling the stick and managing the thrust, while the Captain sat there as the Pilot Monitoring, checking his homework and talking to the tower. They swapped. They shared. The only reason the other man was the ‘boss’ was that someone had to be the Pilot-In-Command when the world started to fall apart.

But until then? Shanks was the pilot. He just had a caffeine deficiency to rectify first.

He finally reached ‘The Cloud Nine Grind’, the only kiosk that made a decent brew in a ten-mile radius. Shanks checked the price board. Damn. Even with a stable income and a decent flight allowance, paying for coffee at the airport felt like being mugged by someone in a very nice apron. He could have stayed in the office and choked down the free “brown water,” but a man had to maintain his dignity.

“Morning, Banchina!” he called out.

“Morning, Shanks. You look like you have been lecturing the luggage trolleys again,” she remarked, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“Education is a full-time job,” he countered.

Yasopp stepped up to the till, eyes narrowing playfully. “It will be four hundred bahts for the education-provider, then. Since you clearly have so much energy to spare.”

“Four hundred? You’re taking the mick!” Shanks leaned over the counter. “Reduction for a loyal customer? A friend? A man who is literally about to fly over your head?”

“Take it up with the landlord,” Yasopp replied, unfazed. “The rent for this square metre is more than your mortgage, I bet. If I lower the price for you, we’ll be sleeping in the cargo hold by Friday.”

Shanks grumbled something incoherent but tapped his phone against the scanner anyway. The QR code cleared with a satisfied ping. “You two are mad. You could have a thriving business in a nice, leafy suburb, but you chose to be trapped in this glass cage with us lot.”

“It has its charms,” Banchina said softly, her eyes meeting Yasopp’s. “We met right at that gate over there. This place is part of our history. Plus, if we moved, who would Roger complain to about his knees? We stay for the people, Shanks. Even the crazy ones.”

“I resemble that remark,” Shanks grinned.

Yasopp handed him the cup, the milk art a perfect little heart that felt like a mockery of his grumbling. “Flat white. Sugar and stirrers are at the end of the counter. Don’t spill it on your uniform, you’ll look like a mess.”

“Cheers,” Shanks said, already feeling the caffeine-induced peace. He’d known Yasopp since their school days—in fact, if Shanks weren’t such a meddling romantic, Yasopp and Banchina never would have met at that gate five years ago. But that was a tale for a much drunker evening.

At the designated ‘condiment corner’, Shanks popped the lid, watching the steam rise like a holy mist  and meticulously added a single brown sugar. Suvarnabhumi was usually a thrumming hive of panicked travellers and clattering luggage, but this specific nook was an unspoken sanctuary. It was tucked away from the main thoroughfares, a ‘staff secret’ fiercely protected by the airport community.

He glanced at his watch.

Thirteen minutes. He needed to be back on the flight deck of his Golden Age Air A350 for the pre-flight checks on the long haul to London. Then, a sudden thought struck him: he’d forgotten to get a brew for Roger. He shrugged it off immediately. Nah. The old man could suffer the office sludge or wait for a sympathetic flight attendant to brew a fresh pot once they reached thirty thousand feet.

Just as he raised the cup for that first, life-giving sip, a physical force collided with his shins.

“Shanks! Shanks! Shanks-Shanks-Shanks!”

It was a high-pitched, rhythmic chant that tickled his ears, sounding suspiciously like the cadence of that Thai nursery rhyme about elephants. Shanks froze, coffee hovering precariously near his lip, and looked down.

A small boy, perhaps three years old, was practically velcroed to his leg. He was the picture of chaos: a white T-shirt with an anchor printed on the front, rumpled shorts and cheeks so chubby they looked like they’d been stuffed with marshmallows. The boy looked up with massive, liquid-dark eyes and a grin so bright it rivalled the runway floodlights.

Shanks felt a sudden, inexplicable ‘attack’ of pure cuteness right in the chest.

Wait a minute, he thought, his brain stalling. How on earth does this tiny human know my name?

The toddler began to jump, his hands drumming a tattoo against Shanks’s uniform trousers. “It’s really you! You’re flying the planes! I told Buggy I smelled adventure, and he told me to shut up and eat my crackers, but I found you! We’re going to London for his new job—he’s a master chef, you know, very expensive!”

“Woah, easy there, Anchor. You’ll spill my life-blood,” Shanks cautioned, gesturing to his coffee. He stopped dead, the name Anchor echoing in his mind. It felt like a reflex, an old habit he’d practiced for a thousand years. It was just a picture on a T-shirt, he told himself, yet the word tasted like salt and sunshine.

The boy let out a shriek of delight. “You said it! You said Anchor! That means you know! You remember the One Piece and the promise! Buggy said he didn’t know if anyone else came back ‘right’, but you’re definitely my Shanks!”

Shanks tuned out the talk of promises and ‘coming back’, his mind reeling from the sheer, overwhelming presence of the child. He knelt on the polished floor, keeping a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. The kid looked like he was ready to sprint across the tarmac if given the chance.

“Slow down, tiger. Or... Anchor,” Shanks corrected himself, feeling that strange warmth bloom in his chest again. “Is Buggy your dad? Your guardian? We need to find him.”

The boy laughed, a bright, infectious sound.

“Buggy’s Buggy! He’s the chef! We’re going to live in London and he’s going to make so much money!” He tilted his head, his dark eyes searching Shanks’s face with a sudden, touching vulnerability. “But you’re happy I found you, right? You remember me, and you’re happy?”

Shanks was struck dumb, his tongue feeling like a lead weight in his mouth. He looked at the boy and felt a dizzying surge of vertigo. It was that face. He knew that face better than his own flight manuals, but he had never seen it before in his life. It was a visceral, soul-deep recognition that made him want to pull the child into a crushing hug and weep for a reason he could not name.

Even the name ‘Buggy’ echoing in his mind brought a sharp, stinging nostalgia, a phantom image of blue hair and bickering that made his throat tighten. He was happy, desperately so, but he was also terrified because he knew this child, he knew him completely, but he did not even know his name.

“Shanks?” The boy’s voice broke through the haze. He reached out, his small, warm hands cupping Shanks’s stubbled cheeks. His brow furrowed in a sudden scowl. “Are you going to cry? You have the leaky-eye face.”

Shanks realised with a jolt that his vision was indeed blurring. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head gently against the boy’s palms. “No, Anchor,” he said softly. “Not crying. Big men don’t cry. It’s a rule of the uniform.”

The boy immediately let go of his face to pull a raspberries-blowing tongue at him. “Liar! Buggy says that’s rubbish! He says men who don’t cry are just hollow bottles with the corks stuck in. He says crying is just your heart being too full and needing to spill a bit so you can stay kind.”

Shanks opened his eyes, stunned.

By every god in the heavens, the child was a masterpiece of cuteness.

The urge to simply wrap the boy in a thick, woolly blanket and spirit him away to the flight deck was becoming alarmingly strong. He could be a living, breathing mascot—a lucky charm to bring morale to the entire crew. Shanks briefly considered giving up coffee entirely just to save enough money to buy out whatever catering company this ‘Buggy’ worked for, just to keep the boy within arm’s reach.

The internal plotting was abruptly cut short by a sharp smack against his cheek.

“Ow! What was that for, Anchor?” Shanks whined, rubbing the stinging skin with a wounded expression.

“Because you were making a stupid face,” the boy said, looking entirely unimpressed. “You looked like you needed to go for a poop.”

Shanks let out a huff of mock indignation, standing his ground. “I’ll have you know my digestive system is in peak condition, thank you very much. Absolutely no emergency movements required.”

The boy collapsed into a fit of giggles, the sound so bright and musical that Shanks felt a fresh wave of affection. It was a sound he wanted to record and set as his ringtone immediately. As the giggles died down, however, the boy’s expression turned sober, his dark eyes searching Shanks’s face.

“So... you remember, right? You remember me?”

The air seemed to leave the terminal.

A crushing weight of guilt settled in Shanks’s stomach.

He looked at the boy, truly wishing he could lie, but the honesty in those eyes demanded the truth. “Oh... that question,” he murmured, his gaze dropping. “Listen, little man... I am so sorry. My bad, really. I don’t actually remember. I have no idea where we could have met, or how I could have possibly forgotten a face like yours—or a man like Buggy—but it’s… just not there.”

Shanks felt like an absolute idiot.

Shit. If they had met, forgetting such a pair was practically a criminal offence.

The boy’s face fell instantly, the vibrant light in his eyes snuffing out like a candle in a gale. He looked down at his scuffed trainers, his small shoulders slumping as if he had just been told the sun was never coming back. Shanks felt a frantic urge to restart the conversation, to lie, to do anything to bring that grin back.

“I—I am so sorry, really! Look, we can start over, can’t we? New friendship! We are mates now, right? Maybe you can just... remind me? Tell me a story?”

The boy slowly looked up, his lower lip trembling in a way that made Shanks want to find a bridge to jump off. He looked as though he were about to shatter. “The… straw hat?” the boy whispered. “The promise at the docks? The One Piece? We were going to meet at the end of the sea. You gave me your arm.”

Shanks stared at him. Straw hats? Promises?

He searched his memory for a playground game he might have played, some elaborate imaginary world he had built with this child and then heartlessly forgotten, but there was nothing. “I’m sorry, Anchor. I don’t remember any of that,” he said. “But I won’t forget again, I swear on my wings! We can make new promises.”

The boy stayed quiet for a moment, then he let out a heavy sigh that sounded far too old for a five-year-old. “It’s okay, Shanks,” he said, his voice steadier now. “It happens. I met Woop Slap and Makino in the park, and they didn’t remember either. It’s okay if you don’t remember.”

Before Shanks could offer another apology, the boy’s face suddenly cleared, a big, familiar grin splitting his cheeks once more. He stood tall, thrusting a thumb toward his chest. “My name is Monkey D. Luffy! I used to be the King of the Pirates. I don’t know what I’m going to be in this life yet, but it’s very nice to meet you again, Shanks!”

The name Monkey D. Luffy echoed in Shanks’s mind, settled there with a clicking sound like a lock finding its key. He didn’t care about the logic of it anymore, so he simply beamed back. “A King, you say? That is a lot to live up to. I am Shanks Figarland, First Officer at your service. It is a pleasure to be reunited, your Majesty.”

Luffy giggled, his head tilting to the side. “Your hair is still red!” he shouted, and then, without any warning, he sprang.

Shanks performed a minor miracle of physics, pushing his coffee away just in time to catch the small whirlwind. Luffy was feather-light, a tiny scrap of a thing, yet his arms wrapped around Shanks’s neck with surprising strength. He held on tight, his small heart beating rapidly against Shanks’s shoulder.

“I’m four years old!” the boy declared proudly.

Ah, but you feel more like a very loud three-year-old, Shanks thought, though he kept the comment to himself. Luffy pulled back slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as if he had heard the silent observation.

“Buggy says I’m a ‘late bloomer’ because I spend all my energy on being awesome! But he feeds me the best chef food every day. He promised I’ll be taller than him by next week.” With that, he slammed back into the hug, tucking his chin over Shanks’s epaulette.

Shanks chuckled, adjusting his hold on his new stowaway. He stood up straight, coffee in one hand and a former Pirate King in the other. “This is certainly the highlight of my Tuesday, Luffy. But now… for the real question... where exactly is this Buggy of yours?”

Luffy froze. He slowly pulled his face away, blinking as he scanned the crowded terminal behind them. He looked back at Shanks, his eyes wide and blinking. “Oops?”

Chapter Text

In his more idealistic moments, Shanks liked to imagine his career as a series of graceful navigations through clear blue skies. His ‘perfect day’ list was extensive: no technical snags, a tailwind that shaved thirty minutes off the flight time, a perfectly pressed uniform and a coffee that didn’t taste like despair.

Nowhere on that list had he included ‘accidentally acquiring a child’. Anyway, he was currently hovering in that dangerous territory where the line between ‘helpful pilot’ and ‘unintentional kidnapper’ became very thin, especially given how much he was actually enjoying the company of the tiny whirlwind.

However, it was a staggering coincidence—the kind that made him wonder if the universe was playing a joke on him because Luffy and his mysterious guardian, Buggy, were passengers on his own flight. It was a logistical miracle, or perhaps a warning.

Shanks had taken the initiative to clear his name before the sirens started. He’d sent word through the gate staff with a very specific set of instructions for the incoming chef.

“Just announce it for me, would you?” he’d asked the agent. “Tell Buggy that I’ve got the kid. If he’s already through the tunnel, tell him he can come and fetch his little monkey at the cockpit door. I’ll be the one holding the caffeine and the toddler.”

Then, Shanks handed over the small, crumpled boarding pass and a passport that featured a surprisingly photogenic toddler to the gate agent. He couldn’t help but wonder if this Buggy fellow was a complete madman or a misunderstood genius for allowing a four-year-old to wander off with all his legal documents in a backpack.

The bag in question was a loud, fluffy red thing with a bright yellow banana stitched onto the front—painfully on-brand for a boy who acted like a caffeinated primate.

“Don’t you worry, Shanks,” the agent said with a sympathetic smile, validating the documents. “We will make sure the message gets through. Have a lovely flight, little one.”

“Thank you, lady! Bye-bye!” Luffy chirped, waving a chubby hand as Shanks hoisted him back up.

They strode through the quiet, echoing glass of the boarding tunnel.

Holy shit.

By all rights, he should have handed the boy over to airport security or the ‘lost and found’ station like any sane professional. Carrying a passenger’s child onto the aircraft an hour before boarding was technically a security nightmare. But… the thought of missing the chance to see the face of this ‘Buggy’ was too tempting.

Shanks stepped onto the aircraft, already bracing himself for the storm. Roger was standing by the cockpit door, his face darkening like a thundercloud as he prepared to deliver a world-class scolding about punctuality. “Shanks, you irresponsible, caffeine-addicted—”

“Wait, Captain! Ceasefire!” Shanks interjected, holding Luffy up like a human shield. “I have a child! No violence in front of the youth!”

Roger’s mouth snapped shut mid-syllable, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he stared at the grinning boy.

“Yo! Old man Roger!” Luffy chirped, waving a hand so vigorously he nearly swatted Shanks’s cap off. His face lit up with a beam that seemed to radiate pure, unadulterated relief. “Shishishi! You’re here too! You’re alive! That’s so cool! Wait—is Ace with you? I’ve been looking for him everywhere! I checked the big grey bins in the food court and even behind the luggage trolleys in the car park, but he was not there.”

Roger remained frozen, his eyes bulging. Shanks watched the Captain with a sense of grim satisfaction. Hah! It was actually comforting to know he wasn’t the only one being blindsided by a four-year-old’s imaginative whirlwind.

“Ehh?” Roger finally managed to find his voice, though it sounded like it had been dragged through gravel. “You... you know Ace? My son?”

“Yes!” Luffy nodded. “We’re brothers! We drank the special cups in the woods! Buggy said this is a ‘modern-ay-you’ and we’re all back again, so if Buggy is here, Ace has to be here too. But he’s definitely not in the bins.”

Roger seemed to bypass the entire concept of reincarnation, his parental instincts overriding his confusion. “Well... Ace is doing just fine, lad. He’s at home with his mother. And he certainly doesn’t hang about in dumpsters, so I should stop looking there if I were you.”

“Aw, man,” Luffy sighed, looking genuinely gutted that his dumpster-diving strategy had failed. Then, he brightened again, a small “shishishi” giggle escaping him. “But he has his mum and dad this time? He is loved, right? Not like before? He’s not lonely?”

Shanks adjusted his hold on the boy, fascinated by the sudden softness on Roger’s face. The Captain’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish before he straightened his posture.

“Of course Ace is loved! He’s the most important thing in the world to us. My wife and I—well, we would move the very stars for that boy. He is loved more than he could ever possibly know.”

“Shishishi! That’s great!” Luffy cheered, kicking his legs happily. “I love Ace the most too! I love him more than an ocean made of orange juice! I would even give him the last piece of crackling on a roast pig. That’s how much I love him!”

Roger let out an indignant puff of air. “Excuse me? You might be a charming lad, but I am the boy’s father! I have loved him since before he was born. My love is a mountain! Yours is... well, it’s just a hill of pork crackling!”

“Nuh-uh!” Luffy argued, his lower lip jutting out. “My love is a mountain too, but it’s a volcano mountain that never stops being hot! I love him more than all the stars you said you would move!”

“Impossible,” Roger replied, pointing a finger. “You’re a brat who just met me. I’m the adult here, I’m an ‘old man’ as you keep saying, and I know best. It’s mathematically impossible for a tiny monkey like you to out-love a devoted father.”

“It’s possible! It is!” Luffy insisted, his small hands balled into fists. “Buggy told me! He said that you can’t measure love with a ruler or a clock. He said that because I remember how much it hurt to lose him, my love this time is ten—no, a hundred times bigger than yours! I would fight the whole world just so he can have a nap! Buggy said that is the kind of love that changes stories, so I definitely love him more than you!”

Shanks felt the air in the cabin grow thick.

Roger’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

This was all so weird.

Shanks had spent plenty of time with Ace. The nine-year-old was a sweet boy, though he hid it behind a wall of grumpy defiance, especially toward Roger. He was a striking kid—no surprise given Roger and Rouge’s genes—but Shanks had never suspected Ace had a secret life involving a four-year-old devotee.

If they had met, Ace never spoke of it, which was impossible because Luffy was unforgettable. It felt like a glitch in reality, much like the way Luffy insisted he and Shanks were old friends despite Shanks having no memory of it. Apparently, the bond was strong enough that Luffy was willing to have a full-blown beef with the boy’s own father.

Before Shanks could intervene, Roger’s stunned silence broke into a booming laugh. Luffy joined in instantly, their combined hysterics echoing through the cabin until a flight attendant appeared, crossing her arms with a look of utter disbelief. She stared at the pair as if questioning the airline’s psychological screening process for pilots.

Roger leaned back, catching his breath. “You’re quite the character, kid. I like your spirit. My name is Gol D. Roger, Pilot-in-Command, and the man who loves Ace more than life itself. I’m glad he has a friend and a brother as fierce as you.”

Luffy’s smile was blinding. “Monkey D. Luffy, former Pirate King! I’ll love Ace in every life! It’s nice to meet you, Roger. You have a great moustache!”

“Haha! I get that a lot,” Roger chuckled, pointing at Luffy’s bag. “That’s a top-tier backpack, by the way.”

“Buggy picked it! He says red is my colour!”

The cabin interphone chimed. [“Captain, First Officer, sorry to disturb the party, but the catering team is boarding and we need the load manifest checked. You mentioned you wanted to do the walk-around early to beat the rain, so unless the toddler is flying the plane, we should probably get started.”]

Shanks adjusted his grip on Luffy, shifting the boy to his other hip. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think? No need for the official comms just to tell us we are being slow,” he remarked.

Roger let out a gruff chuckle, reaching for his cap. “To be fair, Shanks, we probably look like lunatics to them. Using the interphone keeps a professional distance from the madness.” The Captain then clapped his hands together, his tone shifting to business. “Right, let’s get a move on. Last checks before the masses descend.”

Shanks carried Luffy into the cockpit, carefully settling him into the jump seat behind the main controls. “Welcome to the office, Anchor. You have to be a good boy while we work for a bit.”

Luffy tilted his head, curious. “What are you doing?”

“Pre-flight magic,” Shanks explained, flipping a few switches as Roger settled into the left-hand seat.

“We are preparing for the long haul,” Roger added, his eyes scanning the primary flight display. “Bangkok to London—about thirteen hours of flying. We have rain rolling in, so we need every system checked, double-checked, and signed off.”

Luffy watched with wide eyes before asking, quite seriously, “Does the plane have a toilet for pilots? What happens if you have to poop while we are over the ocean?”

Roger burst into a hearty laugh even as he keyed in the flight coordinates. “It does indeed, lad! We take turns so the plane doesn’t just wander off.” Shanks watched in surprise as Luffy actually sat still, his dark eyes tracking their movements with a quiet intensity that was unusual for a four-year-old.

Roger glanced back over his shoulder. “So, tell me... Luffy, how exactly did you end up being kidnapped by my First Officer?”

“Hey! I didn’t kidnap him,” Shanks protested. “I found him, and it turns out he and his guardian are on our manifest. It’s fate!”

Roger gave him an unimpressed stare. “You found a child in the terminal and brought him onto a multi-million-pound aircraft instead of calling security? Figarland, that’s a fucking massive breach of protocol.”

“Watch the language, Captain!” Shanks defended, gesturing to the ‘youth’. “Besides, the kid had his passport and boarding pass ready. It was as if Buggy knew he’d find his way on board.”

Luffy chimed in with a confident nod. “Yeah! And I’m not really a kid anyway. I’m seventy-five years old! I’m very mature for my age, and Shanks is not a stranger at all!”

Roger let out a dry snort, though his eyes remained fixed on Luffy. “Well, if you are seventy-five, I expect you to help with the load manifest.” He shifted his gaze to Shanks, his expression turning puzzled. “But it’s a fair point, Shanks. If this kid is ‘family’, how has he been a secret? If he is Ace’s brother-in-arms, why is he not at our Sunday roasts? Ace is not exactly the silent type.”

“I’m struggling with that myself,” Shanks muttered, squinting at the fuel gauge. “I have no memory of Luffy. But he knew my name instantly. I thought maybe we met at a playground once and I was just being an unobservant idiot, but he has a different theory.”

“Shanks is just slow!” Luffy shouted, giggling. “It’s the past life! We died and came back! We were together then, but we are new now!”

“Right... the ‘past life’ thing,” Shanks said, rubbing his temple. “Luffy, that’s a bit heavy for pre-flight chatter, don’t you think? Rebirth and destiny?”

“Stupid Shanks! I’ve said it so many times!”

Roger surprised them both by chuckling. “You know, Shanks, don’t be so quick to dismiss the boy. Many cultures and religions have believed in the cycle of the soul for millennia. Who are we to say the universe doesn’t have a sense of rhythm?”

“Captain, you’re actually siding with the four-year-old?” Shanks asked, incredulous.

“I’m siding with my gut,” Roger replied, his gaze softening. “Think back to when we met. You were a cheeky brat of a trainee, yet I felt like I had been looking for you my whole life. It’s the same with Rouge. Perhaps Luffy is just the only one of us brave enough to say it out loud.”

Shanks turned slowly to Luffy. “Wait... we were actually pirates and we’ve been reborn?”

“Yeah!” Luffy beamed, leaning forward. “You were a great pirate! You had a straw hat and you gave it to me! You even lost your arm to a Sea King. And there was a big promise! You told me to bring the hat back when I became King.” He grinned. “You don’t have the hat anymore, but Buggy said he would find me a new one, but I’m glad you have both your arms back. Don’t be stupid and lose one this time, okay?”

Roger let out a booming laugh. “Lost your arm to a fish, did you? Oh, Shanks, even in another life, you were a complete menace! I hope it was at least a dignified sort of shark.”

“I’m sure it was something incredibly cool and heroic,” Shanks defended, checking the altimeter with a huff. “Probably a beast the size of this plane.”

“It was just a Sea King,” Luffy explained matter-of-factly, his expression turning serious. “But Shanks did it to save me. He told the monster to get lost and then he hugged me even though he was bleeding. He said it was just an arm, and he was glad I was safe.”

Roger went quiet, his gaze softening as he looked at his First Officer. “Well,” he murmured, “I suppose that does sound like you. Even in this life, you’re far too selfless for your own good—though you still leave your coffee cups everywhere and forget to log your rest hours properly.”

“I’m a work in progress, Captain,” Shanks said, trying to hide how much the story had affected him.

Roger stood up to perform the final pre-flight cabin check, but paused at the door. “So, Luffy... if everyone is back, surely I was the world’s greatest dad to Ace? I just know I’d have been a natural.”

Luffy’s face clouded. “No. You were the Pirate King, but you got executed. Everyone hated you, so they hated Ace too. Ace hated himself. He spent his whole life wondering if he should have been born.” Shanks felt a chill run down his spine as Luffy continued, his voice small. “But he and Sabo and I were brothers. We wanted to be free. Then... Ace died protecting me. He blocked an attack so I could live.”

Luffy went silent, a sad, distant smile on his face. “I cried every day. I thought I had lost everything. But Rayleigh told me not to count what I lost, but to look at what I still had. My nakama. Then… I became the Pirate King for both of us in the end.”

“Goodness,” Shanks whispered, “talk about a mood-killer.”

Luffy immediately perked up. “Shishishi! It’s okay! The past is the past! No point crying over spilled goats!”

“It’s ‘spilled milk’, Anchor,” Shanks corrected.

Luffy ignored him entirely, beaming at them both. “This life is new! Ace is alive, he has you and his mum, and I have all of you too. Life goes on like a rolling stone in the moss! I just really want to see him. So, you have to let me meet him, okay?”

Roger let out a booming laugh that felt more like a roar of acceptance. “Well then! If you were his brother once, you are his brother now. I would be honoured to have a King in the family. I suspect Ace might actually listen to reason for once if he had someone like you to keep him on his toes.”

Shanks watched the Captain closely. Roger looked perfectly fine, but Shanks saw the telltale signs: the way his eyes widened, the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for a manual and the way he turned his head away just a second too long to blink back moisture.

Roger was effectively brushing away a phantom grief for a son he hadn’t even lost yet. Shanks caught his eye for a fleeting second—a silent, heavy understanding passing between them—before Luffy’s radiant beam pulled them back.

Shanks felt very exhausted. It wasn’t just the pre-flight stress. Not really. Maybe it was the weight of the universe. He looked at the boy’s small, fragile frame and wondered how such a tiny body could house the memories of an entire world and the scars of a King.

“It was a different world back then,” Luffy said softly. “But I lived a good life. I was the freest.”

Shanks let out a long, weary sigh and turned back to his console, his fingers tracing the familiar controls. “I’m sure you did, Anchor. But I promise you, this life is going to be a good one too. Only with much better air conditioning and no Sea Kings.”

Luffy giggled, a soft, musical “shishishi” sound. “Yes! The best modern-ay-you life ever!”

The moment of peace was shattered by a frantic, rhythmic pounding on the cockpit door. “Captain! First Officer! We have a... well, we have a situation at the boarding gate. The boy’s guardian is here, and he’s absolutely livid. He looks like a very scary man, sirs—honestly, I think we’re all going to die.”

Chapter Text

Love, in Shanks’s professional opinion, was a bit of a scam. He had watched people fall for a fancy car or a posh zip code, and he’d seen them break their own hearts over things as fickle as a trend. He often wondered if “true love” was hidden somewhere in the anatomy—the kidneys or the gut—or if it was just a side effect of a good outfit and a wealthy upbringing.

Plus, he had no desire to be part of the “kooky-kooky” couples holding hands in public spaces, ignoring the glares of lonely commuters. Therefore, he’d made a pact with himself: unless someone could prove that love was something more than just a creative way to be miserable or a posh way to spend money, he would stay solo.

Basically, he wanted a reason. He wanted a sign.

Okay. To be fair, he might have been exaggerating for effect. He wasn’t entirely heartless. He knew love existed, considering that he’d witnessed the quiet, steady hum of Yasopp and Banchina, and he’d been the third wheel to Roger and Rouge’s legendary romance for years.

Love wasn’t always about flowers and shopping malls, either. He had plenty of it to go around—for the “family” he chose, like Roger and Rouge, who were more of a home to him than the Figarland estate could ever be. He loved Ace like the bratty little brother he’d always wanted to spoil, and he’d follow Beckman into a storm without questioning it. Even for Garling and Shamrock, his actual flesh and blood, there was a complicated, twisted sort of love, despite how much of a villain and a manipulator they were, respectively.

Perhaps he was just a romantic who had misplaced his map. He was perfectly aware that he was good-looking. Haha. Shanks wasn’t the smartest man in the terminal, but he had eyes, and he knew how to use a mirror. Between his face and the natural prestige of being a First Officer, the offers were constant.

But no matter who approached him, Shanks remained unmoved. He’d developed increasingly strange excuses for his lack of interest: this one’s small intestine seemed too “judgmental,” or that one’s spleen didn’t vibrate at the right decibel. He told himself he was waiting for a “creative” reason to fall.

He had been waiting for a chaotic masterpiece of a human.

Someone who didn’t just walk into a room but exploded into it. A man who wore his temper like a flashy red coat whose nose was as distinctive as his sharp, biting wit. A soul that was a tangled mess of blue-haired fury and hidden tenderness, a person who could swear like a sailor and cook like a god.

Someone who would just call Shanks an idiot with so much genuine passion.

Beckman had actually rubbed his temples in pain when Shanks confessed his ‘type.’

The engineer had dryly noted that most people looked for peace and compatibility, whereas Shanks seemed to be shopping for a nemesis to provide decades of bitter conflict. He’d suggested that Shanks’s mental flight path had veered dangerously off-course, perhaps due to too much time in high-altitude cockpits.

Shanks had merely scoffed at the assessment. Right. Beckman was brilliant with a fuselage, but he was a total amateur when it came to the laws of attraction. Just because the engineer required everything to be balanced and dampened didn’t mean Shanks couldn’t thrive in the middle of a flashy thunderstorm.

Of course, having a specific ‘type’ was one thing, but actually locating the person in the middle of a civilised airport was quite another. Shanks had begun to wonder exactly how long a man was expected to wait for his soul to be set on fire. Was it a year? A decade? Would he have to wait a thousand years, effectively pivoting the genre of his life into some parody?

He could see it now: Twilight: The Red-Haired Pilot Edition, where he spent centuries staring out of cockpit windows, sparkling in the high-altitude sun while waiting for a surly person to be born. He’d searched everywhere—from the high-end lounges of Paris to the greasiest spoons in Tokyo—half-convinced he’d have to start checking the mythical hidden islands of the Pacific or perhaps ancient, cursed temples just to find a man who would throw a frying knife at his head with genuine affection.

Then—

A sharp smack to the back of his head.

“Ouch! Bloody hell, Roger!” Shanks yelped, rubbing the sore spot and glaring at the Captain. “That is workplace harassment! I’m calling the union. I’m filing a grievance. You can’t just assault your First Officer because you are bored.”

“I’m not bored, I’m trying to get a flight to London,” Roger said, sounding entirely unapologetic. “We’ve been in the air for thirty minutes and you’ve spent twenty-nine of them staring at the clouds like the brooding male lead of a tragic music video. You have a job to do.”

Shanks adjusted his cap with a huff, glancing at the primary flight display. “The autopilot is engaged, the cruise altitude is stable and I’ve already finished the post-climb checks. I’m perfectly capable of multitasking, thank you very much.”

“Not when your brain is currently orbiting Mars,” Roger said, his tone softening but remaining firm. “In this line of work, we can’t afford to be careless. We’re responsible for every soul in the cabin behind us.”

Shanks went quiet.

“Sorry. I know. I just... lost my thread for a second.”

Roger sighed, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “Go and splash some water on your face. You’ve been like this since you first laid eyes on that Buggy fellow. I know that look—it’s the same pathetic face I made when I met Rouge. You’re hopelessly lost in love.”

Shanks felt a hot flush creep up his neck as he unbuckled his harness. “And how would you know what my face looks like? There are no mirrors in here, and please, spare me the line about seeing your reflection in Rouge’s eyes. That’s genuinely embarrassing.”

Roger let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t need a mirror. Rayleigh was there to mock me for it every single day. I’m simply taking up the mantle. Now, move it.”

“Grateful as always for your support, Captain.” Shanks pulled open the cockpit door and stepped out into the galley.

Shanks made his way to the small lavatory, splashing cold water onto his face. He straightened up and caught his own reflection in the narrow mirror. He adjusted his collar, smoothed back his hair, and gave himself a quick, assessing nod. Still as handsome as ever—first-class standards, definitely.

Stepping back out, he didn’t bother asking the cabin crew for the whereabouts of Luffy because he had memorised the seat number from Luffy’s boarding pass the moment he had seen it. It was a stroke of luck that they were in First Class, situated conveniently close to the front of the aircraft.

He intended to just take a quiet sneak peak, perhaps lingering in the shadows of the galley curtain to observe, but fate had other plans. The second he leaned his head around the partition, he was spotted.

“Shanks!”

Luffy’s voice rang out through the quiet cabin.

The boy bounced in his seat, waving his arms with wild enthusiasm.

Shanks froze as Buggy’s head snapped toward him. Their eyes locked instantly.

Buggy looked very annoyed, his brow furrowed in a sharp, angry scowl that suggested he was currently reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this flight. However, he didn’t yell. Instead, he simply reached over and shoved Luffy back into his seat. “Shut up, you brat! Stop making a scene!”

Luffy pouted. “But it is Shanks! Why do I have to be quiet? I like Shanks!”

Buggy’s grip on Luffy’s shoulder tightened, his expression souring even further. “I don’t care who it is. I’m the one who found you, I’m the one who has been looking after you and now you’re acting like he is the only person in the world.” There was a sharp edge to Buggy’s voice. It was as if he feared that the moment the red-haired pilot appeared, he would be relegated to the background of Luffy’s chaotic life.

Luffy seemed to catch the tone, his eyes softening as he patted Buggy’s hand. “Don’t worry, Buggy! You’re the best! You’re my favourite! It’s just that it has been a long time since I saw Shanks, and he’s a bit slow because he cannot remember anything like we can. He is not special like us.” Then, his face lit up again and he waved at Shanks. “Hey! If you’re standing here, who is flying the airplane? Are we going to crash and die?”

Shanks felt his heart skip a beat. “Holy— Luffy, no!”

“Crash?!” Buggy shrieked. “Do not say the C-word on a flight, you absolute menace!”

The effect was instantaneous.

Passengers began to mumble nervously, and a woman in 2A looked ready to press the call button for the entire crew. Shanks realised he had to take control of the situation before a full-blown mutiny broke out. He stepped fully into the aisle, putting on his most charming, professional smile.

“Easy now, everyone! Please, stay calm,” Shanks announced, his voice smooth and steady. “I am the First Officer, and I promise you, the Captain is very much at the controls. And the aircraft is perfectly safe. Pilots are humans too, you know—I just had to pop out to use the toilet. It was a bit of an emergency, a real ‘code red’ situation, if you catch my drift. Nature waits for no man, not even at thirty thousand feet!”

He began to walk down the aisle, playfully clapping a nervous businessman on the shoulder and giving a light, friendly punch to the arm of another passenger to show how relaxed he was. “See? No crashing today. Just a man and his bladder.”

Buggy rolled his eyes.

“Typical,” he mumbled. “Still a flashy idiot who talks too much about his own business.”

Shanks was already wearing a grin that felt wider than the aircraft’s wingspan. He hadn’t even managed a proper “hello” yet, but the sheer proximity to the man with the blue hair was making his pulse skip. He hesitated on the name, though. Buggy. It felt right, but was it polite?

He didn’t know the man’s surname, and addressing him as “Sir” or “Mister” felt absurdly formal, plus “Doctor”—if he even held such a title—felt entirely wrong. Shanks took pride in his manners, always careful with honorifics, but for some reason, this man was just Buggy.

Buggy wasn’t ‘just’ Buggy, of course, but the name fit like a tailored glove.

Shanks came to a halt beside their row. The first-class suite was a marvel of modern engineering, boasting plush leather that looked soft enough to sink into and enough legroom for Luffy to practically do gymnastics. Luffy was perched in the aisle seat, while Buggy was tucked away by the window, staring out at the white expanse of clouds with his chin resting in his palm.

“So, Anchor, what are you working on?” Shanks asked, nodding toward the paper in the boy’s lap. Luffy held it up proudly. It was a chaotic, vibrant sketch of... were those fish-people? One of them appeared to be wearing a crown. Shanks took a beat, genuinely trying to process the artistic choice. “That’s... quite the masterpiece.”

“I know!” Luffy beamed, his chest puffing out.

Shanks finally allowed his gaze to drift to the guardian. He looked to be around Shanks’s own age, which begged the question: was he actually Luffy’s father? The kid didn’t use the word, but the bond was undeniable. Up close, Buggy was a walking sensory overload. His blue hair was incredibly flowy, looking silkier than the first-class headrest covers. He wore full clown makeup, but there was nothing funny about it.

The sharp red lipstick and dramatic eye markings were strikingly bold, especially framed by those yellow, heart-shaped sunglasses. He was dressed in a vibrant, colour-blocked sailing jacket—red, white and navy—over a simple tan shirt and loose navy trousers.

Then there was the nose. It was round, bright and unmistakably red.

A genuine, physical part of him.

The sight of it acted like a magnetic North for Shanks’s entire being, pulling at a primitive part of his brain he didn’t even know existed. He felt an almost pathological urge to point it out, to make a joke, to reach out and perhaps even honk it. Where had that thought even come from?

However, just as the words “that’s a flashy nose” began to form, a cold shiver of pure, ancestral dread spiked down his spine. His subconscious screamed at him to shut up, and he didn’t know why, but he felt as though he’d spent a thousand years being yelled at for his big mouth, and for once, he was going to listen to his gut.

Buggy finally snapped his head around.

“Do you not have a plane to fly, you over-groomed loon?” he barked, pointedly avoiding using any name or title. “Or is the cockpit just a glorified storage cupboard these days?”

Shanks offered a calm, lazy grin. Inside, however, he was practically vibrating.

He spoke to me. He thinks I’m over-groomed. That’s a compliment, surely?

Shanks watched, mesmerised, as Buggy reached up to snatch off the heart-shaped sunglasses, revealing eyes that were even more striking without the yellow tint. Buggy ignored him immediately after the insult, turning his attention to Luffy. He grabbed a jacket from the side console and began wrestling the boy into it. “It’s freezing in here, you brat! Do you want to arrive in London with a cold? And where are your shoes? Why on earth did you kick them off already?”

“Let me,” Shanks offered, spotting the discarded trainers near the seat’s footrest. He knelt down, his fingers brushing the expensive leather as he retrieved them.

Buggy snatched them out of his hands before Shanks could even think about fitting them. “Don’t bother. He will only kick them off again. Peasant kid,” Buggy muttered, shaking his head at the shoes. “These are far too expensive to be treated like rubbish.”

“They were a gift from Auntie Shakky!”

“Yes, yes, Auntie Shakky,” Buggy mimicked, stuffing the trainers into a high-end dust bag. “Who happens to be my boss. She likes you, sure, but she could still fire me. These shoes cost more than my monthly rent. They will be our emergency fund if this flight goes south.”

Shanks stayed silent, but the name Shakky rang a distant bell in his mind. Perhaps linked to a silver-haired mentor he’d had years ago, but the memory wouldn’t quite surface. Buggy looked up then, his glare returning with double the intensity. “Still here? Is the ‘No Loitering’ sign not lit up in the cockpit?”

“Technically, the Captain is still in there, and the autopilot is doing most of the heavy lifting. Besides,” Shanks replied, with a slight wink that felt entirely too bold for a first meeting, “the author of this particular story hasn’t a clue about actual aviation protocols, so I’m fairly certain the plane won’t fall out of the sky just because I’ve wandered off for a chat.” He leaned against the edge of the headrest. “Actually, I’m quite curious. Luffy mentioned something about us all being pirates in a past life. I’m always looking to make new friends, especially ‘reborn’ ones.”

Buggy’s eyes went wide, and he whipped around to glare at Luffy. “You little menace! I told you to keep your mouth shut about that! You’re telling random pilots our life story?” He turned back to Shanks, his face flushing a brilliant shade of crimson. “And you? You actually believe the ramblings of a four-year-old? You’re as mental—!”

Suddenly, he stopped, took a deep breath and began massaging his temples. “I’m an adult. I’m calm. I’m a professional chef on holiday. I’m calm.” He looked up, though his gaze seemed to drift past Shanks toward the clouds. “Why is it that no matter what life I end up in, I am surrounded by the same brand of over-confident, silver-tongued idiots? It’s so exhausting.”

“Are you talking to me?” Shanks asked, genuinely amused.

“I’m talking to the other guy,” Buggy replied. “The one who died. Rest in peace to him in that other world. I only regret I didn’t make his life a more thorough hell while I had the chance. This must be my divine punishment—denied heaven and sent back to this level of hell just to run into you again.”

Luffy let out a delighted cackle, bouncing in his seat. “Shishishi! I’m so happy you’re talking again! Sit down, Shanks! Come and have a chin wagging!”

“It’s a ‘chin wag’, kid,” Buggy corrected reflexively, even as he reached out to catch the boy. Luffy didn’t wait for permission, scrambling over the armrest and flopping onto Buggy’s lap. Buggy sighed, his hands automatically supporting the child with a tenderness that contradicted his sharp words.

“Sit, sit!” Luffy urged, patting the empty seat next to them.

Shanks didn’t need a second invitation. He sat down immediately. “Thanks, Anchor. You’re making my dreams come true already.”

Luffy tilted his head, looking between the seat and Shanks. “Your dream is to sit where I was sitting? That is a very strange dream, Shanks. Is the One Piece hidden in the seat cushion or something?”

Buggy snorted, his fingers automatically finding Luffy’s ribs to give them a playful tickle. “Of course not, you brat. Though with the way this story is going, I wouldn’t be surprised if the ‘great treasure’ turned out to be a First-Class footrest. Honestly, I can’t believe I’m stuck as a side character in the epic saga of your life again. The comedic timing of this universe is appalling.”

Luffy giggled hysterically, squirming to escape the tickling. “Stop! Buggy, stop! Shishishi!”

Shanks watched them, his heart feeling light. However, the moment was cut short when Buggy’s head snapped toward him, the yellow, heart-shaped glasses sliding down his nose as he glared.

“What do you actually want?”

“I’ve already said,” Shanks replied. “I want to make friends. New world, new start.”

“Request denied,” Buggy snapped. “Go away.”

“Anchor likes me,” Shanks pointed out. “And I like Anchor. Surely that counts for something?”

“It counts for a call to security,” Buggy hissed, leaning forward. “An adult man trying this hard to befriend a child he just met? It looks dodgy. I’ll have the police waiting for you at Heathrow. I’ll make sure you never fly a paper plane again, let alone a Boeing. Keep pushing me and I’ll ruin you.”

Shanks felt the smile falter. Usually, he could charm his way out of a burning building, but Buggy seemed to truly loathe his presence. He felt a rare spark of self-doubt, wondering if he’d overstepped. But then Luffy sat up straight on Buggy’s lap, looking remarkably stern.

“Buggy! Why are you being so mean to Shanks?” Luffy asked. “You grew up on the same boat and fought over everything, but you were best friends! I know you’re a good guy, Buggy—you helped me so much in the other life when things were scary. Stop being a grumpy clown and be nice!”

“Luffy, give it a rest,” Buggy sighed, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Don’t lecture me on wisdom. You were the one who gave me that whole speech about how the past is a ghost that haunts the living. Nostalgia is a poison, you said. So why are you trying to force me to drink it now?”

Luffy huffed, crossing his arms over his denim jacket. “There’s a difference! Feeling bad for yourself is nostalgia, but knowing your friends is just life! This is a new life. A new adventure. Shanks has no idea what happened back then, so how can you be mad at him for things he has not even done yet? That’s totally stupid.”

“It’s perfectly logical!” Buggy countered. He raised his voice a little bit. “I hated him for twenty years! I hated his grin, I hated his lack of personal space and I hated the way he ruined everything I ever touched!” He stopped abruptly, pressing his palms to his eyes. “You know what? This sounds stupid. You’re stupid. But I’m clearly also stupid for even engaging in this debate.”

“I’m definitely stupid too,” Shanks added, wanting to be included in the conversation at any cost.

“I didn’t invite your opinion, but yes, you’re a complete moron,” Buggy hissed. He exhaled a long, slow breath, smoothing down his silk-blue hair. “Look. I’m a grown man. I should be a better role model for Luffy than this. Let’s start over. As the brat said... yes, we were close once. But in my mind, we were rivals. Total enemies.”

“Enemies? Me?” Shanks asked, looking genuinely pained. “I could never hate you.”

Buggy reached out and delivered a sharp thwack to the top of Shanks’s head. “Shut up! I said we were enemies because I decided it. You were a constant roadblock to my happiness. Because of you, I lost my fortune. Because of you, I ended up with a cursed fruit in my stomach and a life of flashing misery! You spent your entire childhood making me the butt of every joke in front of everyone!”

Shanks remained silent, the sting of the thwack on his head far less painful than the heavy knot forming in his chest. Was he truly such a berk to this man? He wondered if remembering would actually help or if it would only make him repeat his mistakes. If he could recall those moments, he would find a way to redeem himself—perhaps by buying Buggy a hundred treasure maps, or spending every day making up for that lost fortune, or simply holding Buggy’s hand until the “misery” faded into something else entirely.

But perhaps it was for the best.

He didn’t need memories to know he wanted to be close to this man.

Coming back to the present, he noticed the fire had left Buggy’s eyes, replaced by a weary, softer expression. Buggy looked at him properly. “Look, I’m a bigger person than I was back then,” he muttered, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. “I won’t hold a dead man’s crimes against you. It was just a lapse in judgement, and I’ve lived in this world for so long with these memories and never saw a familiar face. Then today, Luffy finds you and it all came rushing back. And hearing that Roger is actually alive and well... good for that useless old man. At least he did one thing right in this life by staying alive for Ace and Rouge.”

Shanks didn’t trust his voice to speak, but he felt very relieved. He watched as Buggy adjusted Luffy on his lap, the two of them bickering quietly about the boy’s messy hair until Luffy’s eyes began to flutter shut, his head resting against Buggy’s colour-blocked jacket. Buggy held him closer.

“So,” Shanks whispered softly, leaning in just an inch. “Does this mean we can be friends?”

Buggy huffed, staring straight ahead at the seat in front of him, though his expression wasn’t nearly as cold as before. “I suppose. If you prove you’re worth the effort, that is.”

“Oh, I am definitely worth the effort,” Shanks replied instantly. Earlier, he had noted the mentions of lost fortunes, rent money and the desire for a peaceful, wealthy life. If Buggy wanted stability and gold, Shanks was more than happy to be the man to provide it.

Buggy tilted his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his red lips as he glanced at Shanks. “Big words for a man who just abandoned his post.”

Shanks didn’t miss a beat. “I’m a man of many qualities. My friends adore me. They would tell you I’m the most loyal, reliable and charming fellow you could ever hope to meet.” Well, he conveniently forgot the time he’d accidentally set Beckman’s favourite book on fire, or the numerous headaches he’d caused his brother Shamrock and his father Garling. He certainly didn’t mention the chaos he’d inflicted on Ace.

But for Buggy? He was ready to be a paragon of virtue.

“Plus,” Shanks added, leaning in, “I have a very stable income as a First Officer. I’m young, but I am exceptionally good at what I do. And if that isn’t enough, my family is disgustingly comfortable. if I wanted to, I could start a company tomorrow. I could buy us an island.”

Buggy’s jaw dropped as he stared at Shanks. “What the... you’re actually a rich bastard in this life?” he hissed. “While I’m over here as a poor orphan? I’ve spent this entire life working myself to the bone just to survive, and I’ve had to do it whilst dragging this bin-goblin along with me.”

He looked toward the ceiling as if cursing the heavens. “What an unfair setup. I found the kid in an actual bin and had to work double shifts at the restaurant to buy him nappies, and you’re sitting there offering to buy islands? I want to speak to the person in charge of this reincarnation. The favouritism is sickening.”

An orphan.

The thought of Buggy alone, struggling to find nappies for a baby he’d found in a bin, made Shanks quiet. He didn’t trust himself to speak without sounding overly emotional, but Buggy just sneered, a calm expression on his face. He reached out and patted Shanks’s cheek. Half-condescending and half-affectionate.

“Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t that traumatic,” Buggy reassured him, his touch lingering just long enough to make Shanks’s brain short-circuit. Holy shit! We are already at the touching stage! Shanks screamed, though he kept his face steady. “Despite the sickening favouritism of your life, I’m doing quite well for myself. I have a great job with Shakky—she’s a bit like a fairy godmother. She provided these First-Class seats. Plus, I have a second income as an influencer. People send me things constantly. Some of my fans have even offered to buy me a house.”

“An influencer?” Shanks asked, intrigued. “What do you do?”

Buggy adjusted the sleeping Luffy, checking the boy’s forehead before leaning back. “Cooking. I stay anonymous, mostly. I only show my hands and the food. It’s peaceful.”

“Can I follow you?”

“I suppose,” Buggy replied casually. “As long as you don’t be weird about it. The handle is Cross Guild Kitchen.”

Shanks noted the name in his head. “Does the name mean something?”

Buggy smiled softly, a genuine look of fondness crossing his face. “In the previous life, the Cross Guild was... strange. But I liked it. It was a partnership with two of the most difficult men I’ve ever met. It was the pinnacle of my career, really. I use the name as a tribute to that success.”

Shanks felt a sudden, sharp prickle of jealousy. He didn’t like the way Buggy’s voice warmed when he mentioned those other men. “Right. Sounds... interesting,” he mumbled. He was interrupted by a cabin crew member who stepped into the galley.

“Sir, the Captain is asking for you. He thought you might have fallen overboard.”

“Duty calls,” Shanks sighed, offering Buggy a reluctant smile.

“About time,” Buggy remarked, though he didn’t sound nearly as harsh as before.

Shanks got up, adjusting his tie. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Buggy let out a long sigh, sounding more fond than annoyed. “I really don’t know what it’s about me that makes people so obsessive. It’s quite the cross to bear.”

Shanks grinned and headed back toward the cockpit.

He was jealous that there were other names—other lives—that could make Buggy smile like that. But Shanks was here now, physically present in this life. He was going to be the one to make Buggy smile like that again. No, he was going to be the person who made him smile the best.

Chapter Text

Shanks leaned back in the armchair of his hotel suite, staring out at the London skyline.

He had to admit, the author of this story clearly had no idea how a First Officer’s schedule actually worked. However, since the rules of reality were being treated as mere suggestions, he was currently enjoying the perks of a very convenient landing at Heathrow.

After touching down on that Tuesday, his duties had been a whirlwind of post-flight checklists: securing the flight deck, completing the technical log and conducting the exterior walk-around to check for any bird strikes or airframe damage. Most of the time, a crew might turn around quickly, but Heathrow was a major hub with strict slot restrictions. Because their aircraft was scheduled for a 48-hour maintenance check in the hangar and the crew had exceeded their legal flying hours for the week, Shanks was officially on a mandatory rest period. He was stuck in London for at least three days, which was exactly the kind of bureaucratic luck he needed to track down a certain blue-haired chef.

Actually, who was he kidding?

There was no need for any dramatic tracking or high-stakes detective work. Shanks had managed to snag Buggy’s hotel address and phone number before they had even cleared customs. Even better—or perhaps more terrifyingly—he was currently babysitting Luffy.

He was already at the co-parenting stage. Could you actually believe that?

The jump in the relationship timeline was enough to give even a seasoned pilot whiplash.

Shanks noticed a rustle from the bedroom and watched as Luffy finally stirred from his nap. He stood up and walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed as the boy sat up. Luffy looked ridiculously small and soft, his chubby cheeks flushed from sleep as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. He was dressed in a pastel blue sailor outfit that made him look far more innocent than he actually was.

Shanks reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from the boy’s forehead. “Have a nice nap, Anchor?”

Luffy didn’t answer with words, but he crawled into Shanks’s lap, leaning his sleepy head against Shanks’ chest.

“I am hungry,” Luffy mumbled.

Shanks let out a chuckle as he wrapped his arms around the boy.

“Of course you are. Why am I not surprised that those are the first words out of your mouth?” He stood up, hoisting Luffy onto his hip, and carried him into the living area. The fridge was stocked by Buggy, and there were several neatly labelled containers of food that the chef had packed earlier.

As Shanks settled him down at the table, Luffy gave a tiny, sleepy giggle. “Buggy said that even if I was reborn in this modern day, my stomach came with me from the old one.”

Shanks started pulling out the boxes, reading Buggy’s precise instructions on what to reheat and when. “I can certainly see that,” he remarked, eyeing the sheer volume of food meant for one small child. “Your appetite is truly a force of nature.”

He pulled out a stack of containers, spotting one labelled ‘Mid-morning Snacks’. Taped to the lid was a small, neon-yellow post-it notes in sharp, elegant handwriting: ‘There is enough for you too. Try not to burn the hotel down.’ Oh… Shanks certainly felt like he was well and smitten.

The hotel apartment, provided by the airline, was sleek and modern, equipped with a high-end induction hob that Shanks navigated with practiced ease. As the smell of braised pork and rice began to fill the air, Luffy scrambled up to stand on his chair, balancing with confidence.

“I am a D, you know,” Luffy announced. “In the old world, it meant we were the natural enemies of God!”

Shanks chuckled, leaning against the counter while the microwave was on. “Is that so? But in this world, the ‘D’ is just a rare middle initial—ancient origins, very prestigious. And not everyone can just claim to be a D.”

Luffy giggled. “Everyone can be one! I already gave Sabo a D. His name is now Sabo D. Pipe-Smasher!” He paused. “Sabo is my brother. Ace’s brother too. The three of us drank sake and became brothers forever.”

Shanks froze for a second, the name Sabo ringing a distant, hazy bell in the back of his mind. He shook it off and focused on the task at hand. He moved to the table, but before he set the plate down, he grabbed a clean tea towel to use as a makeshift bib. “Right then, let’s protect the finery. That’s a very posh sailor suit and I’m not having you ruin it on my watch.”

Luffy pouted as Shanks tucked the cloth into his collar. “I’m not a baby! I’ll be careful because Buggy bought this for my birthday. I know it was expensive.”

“You can never be careful enough—Pilot’s motto,” Shanks teased. Then, it clicked. “Wait, Sabo! He’s Ace’s best friend! Good grief, it really is a full house. It’s like everyone you and Buggy knew from that pirate life is popping up here. Funny thing is, piracy isn’t even part of the Thai culture, yet everyone seems to be around.”

Luffy started stuffing his mouth with a piece of meat, though he was uncharacteristically careful not to let a single drop of sauce fall. He looked up, his eyes wide. “Sabo is here?! I looked for him in the bins and the dumpsters where Buggy found me, but I couldn’t find him. I’m glad he’s with Ace.”

Shanks sat beside him, napkin at the ready. He reached out to wipe a stray bit of sauce from the corner of Luffy’s mouth. “Chew and swallow before you speak, Anchor. You might have been made of rubber in a past life, but you’re a normal kid now. If you choke, we’re both in trouble.”

Luffy gave a non-committal hum, but he did as he was told, chewing his food with uncharacteristic focus. Once his mouth was finally empty, he gulped down half a glass of water and let out a satisfied “Ahh!” Then: “Buggy’s cooking is the absolute best,” he said firmly.

“Better than your friend Sanji’s?” Shanks asked with a smirk. He had spent the last hour learning every detail about the Straw Hat crew—from the swordsman who got lost to the reindeer doctor. Luffy had a knack for surrounding himself with the most interesting people in any lifetime.

Luffy looked absolutely scandalised. “Shanks! You can’t ask that! Buggy’s food is the best ever. But Sanji’s food is also the best ever. They don’t fight, they just... are both the best!”

Shanks laughed, leaning his chin on his hand as he watched the boy. It was incredible, really. Luffy had just eaten a meal large enough to sustain a grown man, and yet they were supposed to meet Buggy for lunch in a mere two hours. The boy’s stomach was a literal black hole. He took a quick photo of the scene—the remains of the feast and Luffy’s messy hair visible from behind—to brag about his newfound domestic skills.

A notification popped up immediately.

Beckman : Whose child is that?

Beckman : Tell me you didn’t just pick up a stray at the airport. Turn yourself in, it’ll be easier for everyone.

Shanks typed back furiously, a grin on his face.

Shanks : Why does everyone think I’m a criminal?! First Roger, now you. I am a responsible adult!

Shanks : AND I AM BABYSITTING! His guardian willingly left him in my care! I am a trusted member of society!

Beckman : A ‘friend’? Or a victim? Look at the amount of food on that table. You’re definitely going the Hansel and Gretel route. Are you fattening the poor lad up for a roast?

Shanks : IT’S JUST SNACK!

Shanks : And he was already like this!

Beckman : I’m doing a mental roll call. Yasopp is the only one with a child. Lucky Roux wouldn’t trust you with a sandwich, let alone a human being. This story doesn’t add up.

Before Shanks could defend his honour, a message from Yasopp chimed in.

Yasopp : Huge news! Welcome to the fatherhood club, man. About time you settled down.

Shanks : He is not my son. Please stop.

Yasopp : Don’t lie to me. Word at Suvarnabhumi is that you’ve got a little apprentice.

Yasopp : Someone said you even brought him on the plane with you. Bold move for a first trip.

Shanks : He was a lost child! I was being a responsible member of the flight crew.

Shanks : And I didn’t ‘pick him up’, I escorted him!

Yasopp : Whatever you say, Dad. What’s the lad’s name? Banchina is already picking out wool to knit him a jumper. She wants him and Usopp to look like twins.

Shanks : HIS NAME IS LUFFY. And he has a dad already!

Yasopp : Oh! You’re seeing someone with a kid? That’s serious! I’ve got to tell the others.

Shanks : Yasopp, wait.

Shanks : Hello?

He growled, burying his face in his hands. “I’m surrounded by morons. Absolute lunatics.”

“Is it your crew?” Luffy asked, tilting his head curiously.

Shanks looked over at him. “My crew?”

“Yeah! The Red Hair Pirates!” Luffy beamed. “Beckman was the smartest, and Yasopp never missed a shot. You were all so cool and stayed together on one big ship.”

Shanks leaned in, genuinely stunned. “That is fascinating, Anchor. Because those are my friends. Some from school, some from university... we have always been close, even if our lives are completely different now. I suppose some things really do never change.”

Luffy’s face beamed with pure joy. “I’m so happy I found everyone! Back home, I already found Woop Slap and Makino because they live in my neighbourhood. Makino owns a café now and her croissants are the absolute best in the world! Woop Slap is retired, and he has so many dogs now.” He swung his legs happily. “They don’t remember the old times either, but that’s okay. They love me just as much now.”

Shanks began gathering the empty containers. “That’s brilliant, Anchor. I’m happy for you—and for me, too. I’m glad you found me.” He paused, looking at the boy with a soft, sincere expression. “I’m sorry I don’t have those memories yet, but look at it this way: we get to start from zero. And I can tell you now, I already love having you around.”

Luffy scrambled off his chair and threw his arms around Shanks’s leg, squeezing tight. “I know! Buggy told me about past life connections. He said even if the brain forgets, the heart stays sticky. Our bond runs really deep, so it’s okay if you’re a bit slow to remember.”

Shanks laughed, hoisting the boy up into his arms. Luffy settled against his shoulder, looking thoughtful. “Anyway, it’s like the saying. Gravy is thicker than water!”

Shanks snorted. “The phrase is ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’, though knowing you, your version makes a lot more sense.” He gave Luffy a squeeze before heading towards the hallway. “Right, let’s get you to the bathroom. We need to freshen up and brush those teeth. We have to look our best when we go to meet your dad.”

Luffy shook his head, his dark curls bouncing against Shanks’s shoulder. “Buggy always says he is not my dad,” he explained, though his tone was fond rather than sad. “In the old life, he was just stupid and funny—we fought a lot! But in this life, he is a very good guy. He found me when I was just a tiny baby in a bin. I remember it, and Buggy does too. He took care of me when he had nothing.”

Shanks adjusted his hold on the boy as he nudged the bathroom door open with his foot. “It doesn’t really matter what he says, Anchor. He told me he adopted you, so legally and practically, he is your dad.”

Luffy hopped down onto the bathroom stool and accepted the toothbrush Shanks held out. “I know, right?” he agreed, his voice muffled as he shoved the brush into his mouth. He began to scrub vigorously, speaking through the foam. “But Buggy thinks it would be weird if I called him ‘Dad’ all the time because he says he is too young and too handsome to be a father. He also thinks my real family must be somewhere out there... alive or something.”

Shanks leaned against the doorframe, watching the boy. “Do you know who your parents are?”

Luffy spat into the sink and looked up, his chin covered in bubbles. “Nuh-huh. I don’t know about a mother. But my dad from the pirate life... I knew him. Buggy said if he was such an ‘important main character’ back then, then in this modern day, he must still be around somewhere.”

After rinsing his mouth, Luffy let Shanks wipe his face with a warm flannel. “Do you think Buggy refuses the title because he feels like he’s a placeholder for your other dad?” Shanks asked.

Luffy shrugged, leaning into the touch. “I don’t think so. In the past life, my dad didn’t raise me anyway, so it didn’t matter. Buggy knows that. Besides, sometimes Buggy lets me call him ‘Dad’ when we are at the doctor’s or when he wants to act like a ‘responsible adult’ in front of strangers.”

Shanks hummed, registering that bit of information for later.

“Right then. We are ready. Let us go and meet him.” He let out a long, weary sigh as they headed for the front door, mumbling to himself, “I can’t believe you just ate a literal feast and now we’re going to see Buggy for more food. Eat again? Is this entire story just about your stomach?”

Luffy giggled, swinging his legs as Shanks knelt on the floor to help him into his tiny trainers. “You know, Shanks,” Luffy began, “in the other life, people used to say you and I were the ones who were like father and son.”

Shanks perked up, his hands pausing on the Velcro straps. “Really?”

Luffy nodded with a wide, toothy grin. “Yeah! I told you, remember? You lost your arm for me and let me borrow your straw hat. You were the one who inspired me to be a pirate—no, the Pirate King! The freest person in the world.”

Shanks didn’t say anything, but he felt a strange, inexplicable warmth bloom in his chest. But then, a thought flickered. He remembered the look on Buggy’s face back on the plane—the sharp glint in his eyes, the prickliness that felt like more than just annoyance. Maybe it wasn’t Luffy’s biological father Buggy was worried about. It was him. Buggy knew that in another world, Shanks was the one Luffy looked up to most.

Was he afraid of being replaced?

“Shanks?” Luffy asked, tilting his head. “Do you need to go poop? You have a funny face.”

Shanks snapped back to the present, laughing as he stood up and scooped Luffy into his arms. He forced his own feet into his loafers without untying them. “My bladder and everything else are perfectly fine, thank you, Anchor. Already seen to.” Luffy giggled, and the sound felt like it was tickling the very edges of Shanks’s dormant memories. He loved it.

“Hey, let’s take a selfie,” Shanks suggested, pulling out his phone. “I need to show my crew that I’m surviving my first mission.” He held the phone up, Luffy’s chubby cheek pressed against his as they both beamed at the camera. With one hand, Shanks tapped out a message to his group chat, attaching the photo.

Caption: [I’ve accepted my fate as Papa. (Dad was already taken).]

Chapter Text

The taxi pulled onto the pristine, quiet streets of Belgravia.

Shanks had to admit, the author of this life certainly had a sense of irony; of all the districts in London for Buggy to be working in, it had to be this one. This was a place of white stucco, old money and the kind of suffocating prestige that made his skin itch.

He had spent far too many childhood summers here, dragged along by his father, Garling, to maintain the family’s standing among the elite. It wasn’t that the memories were traumatic, per se, but the entire neighbourhood smelled of expensive cologne and repressed personalities—two things Shanks had spent his adulthood trying to avoid.

As they stepped out of the black cab, Luffy looked up at him with a scrutinising squint.

“Shanks? Why are you making the face again? Is it the poop?”

Shanks let out a long, weary sigh, adjusting his sunglasses as he stared at the towering, elegant townhouses. “No, Anchor, for the last time, I don’t need to poop. I just happen to have a very strong distaste for this particular corner of the world.”

“Why?” Luffy asked, already distracted by a polished brass knocker on a nearby door.

“My family has a penthouse just three streets over,” Shanks admitted, his voice flat. “When I was younger, we were forced to stay here for my father’s business meetings. High-society galas, dinners with royal families, nodding at kings and queens... it was all very stiff and very boring.” He looked around, his brow furrowing as he checked the address Buggy had sent. “I’m just trying to figure out how Buggy ended up here. I wonder which high-and-mighty aristocrat hired his catering team today.”

“Oh, Buggy is working for a friend of Shakky’s friend,” Luffy chirped, tapping his chin as he tried to pull the name from his memory. “He is called... Emu? No, Lima? It’s Temu! That’s it. A funny guy. In the other life, he sat on a big empty throne and tried to put out all the lights in the world. He was very spooky and lived in a giant room with a frozen hat.”

Shanks nearly choked on his own breath. “Imu? You mean Lord Imu? Good grief, Anchor, he’s not just a ‘funny guy’. In this life, he’s royalty from the Kingdom of Lukanda—a tiny, incredibly wealthy nation in Africa that produces half the world’s rare jewels. His family and the Figarlands have been ‘associates’ for centuries. We shared the same private tutors and our parents used to trade gold bullion over tea.”

Shanks was about to launch into a deeper explanation of the Figarland lineage, but he stopped mid-sentence. Luffy’s attention had already drifted. The boy was now pointing excitedly at a nearby floral arrangement. “Shanks, look! Those flowers look like giant strawberries. Do you think if I bite them, they taste like pink?”

Shanks let out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at his lips. Mentally old or not, Luffy was still a hyperactive kid. “Let us just get to the park, shall we? Buggy was very specific about the rendezvous.” He led Luffy to a small, gated communal garden nearby. Buggy had told Shanks to take the boy there to wait.

As they settled onto a dark wooden bench, Shanks pulled out his phone. Luffy scrambled onto his lap, peering at the screen as Shanks sent a quick text: [‘We are at the park. Anchor is safe’.] He did not have to wait long; a [‘Coming now’] popped up almost instantly.

Shanks glanced at his lock screen and made a face. He had 57 unread notifications from the ‘Red Hair’ group chat. He was amused, yet not at all surprised, to see his friends bombarding the thread. Apparently, the idea of Shanks accidentally becoming a parent was the biggest news of the decade. Then again, he remembered when Banchina gave birth; the crew had bombarded Yasopp with so many messages that his phone had actually overheated and died. Some things never change.

Shanks tapped into the chat, the messages flying past so quickly it made his head spin. He went right to the top to see the initial reaction to his ‘Papa’ announcement.

Yasopp : I KNEW IT! Banchina and I are officialising the playdate. Welcome to the dark side!

Monster : Wait, wait, wait. Since when?

Monster : Shanks, is he yours? He looks too old to be a ‘surprise’. Did you forget you had a kid for five years?

Building Snake : Congratulations? I think? I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone, let alone someone with a school-aged kid. Is this a prank?

Howling Gab : Is this a late April Fool? Shanks, you are the most ‘single’ man I know. You spend more time in the air than on the ground.

Hongo : From a biological standpoint, I am baffled. Shanks, you have the lifestyle of a monk when it comes to relationships. You have spent years telling us you were waiting for ‘The One’. Did you find them? Or did you just find a kid and decide he was yours?

Building Snake : He is right. I remember the last New Year’s Eve party. Shanks was half-cut on champagne, telling us all that he would remain a ‘knight of purity’ until he found his destined partner. The one who was supposed to be his perfect opposite.

Lucky Roux : Yeah, the one he described as a ‘flashy whirlwind’ who would keep him on his toes. We always joked that this person did not exist. So, Shanks, did the unicorn finally appear, or are you just babysitting for a stranger and trying to look cool?

Shanks : I am not babysitting a stranger, Roux. I am playing the long game. I have met the person I have been waiting for, and now I am just trying to convince him that I am the best thing that ever happened to him. It is a delicate operation.

Howling Gab : HE FOUND HIM. EVERYONE STAY CALM.

Building Snake : I am not staying calm! Shanks, is he even interested? Because if you are just following him around like a lost puppy, that is borderline stalking. Respect the era we live in: consent is key!

Lucky Roux : Exactly! If he says he is not interested, you walk away. Don’t make us stage an intervention for your love life.

Shanks : Relax, you lot. I have plenty of charm left in the tank. I am being a perfect gentleman. I would never dream of pushing past Buggy’s boundaries. We are just... getting to know each other again.

Hongo : Buggy? That is the name of the ‘One’?

Monster : That is the most absurdly perfect name for someone you would fall for. It sounds loud. Is he loud? He sounds like he yells at you.

Shanks let out a soft laugh, thinking of the way Buggy had barked at him in the cockpit. “He certainly does,” he murmured to himself, watching Luffy jump up to wave at the approaching figure. Shanks looked up from his phone and immediately cursed his own lack of composure. He felt like a schoolboy catching a glimpse of his crush. Buggy was walking toward them, and the second he spotted Luffy, his face simply lit up.

The clouds that had been loitering over London finally parted, allowing a stray beam of sunlight to filter through the heavy branches of the oak tree, catching the vibrant blue of Buggy’s hair. He looked striking in a vertical-striped shirt left open over a simple white tee, paired with loose-fitting trousers and a beanie that sat perfectly against his forehead. When he grinned at the boy, his expression was sharp yet undeniably beautiful.

“Buggy! Buggy, did you meet Temu? The big bad guy?” Luffy shouted as he scrambled off Shanks’s lap and sprinted toward him.

“It’s Imu, you little idiot,” Buggy corrected, his voice deadpan as he hoisted Luffy into a hug. “And the man was fine. A total snob, obviously. He clearly loved my cooking but acted like he was too important to admit it.” He adjusted Luffy on his hip. “We’re going to a place Shakky recommended. Even a professional chef needs to let someone else handle the stove occasionally, or I’ll lose my mind.”

Shanks stood up as they approached. He looked at Buggy with a soft smile. “Hi,” he said simply.

Buggy huffed, pointedly ignoring the greeting. “Did you actually feed him those mid-morning snacks, or did you just play on your phone?”

“Shanks did good! He gave me everything!” Luffy chirped, defending his temporary guardian.

Buggy looked down at the boy in his arms, his expression softening into something genuinely tender. “I don’t know where you put it all. Your appetite is an insult to biology.”

“You complain and complain, but you always feed me!” Luffy laughed.

“Be grateful, you brat, or I’ll toss you in the Thames!” Buggy warned, playfully flipping Luffy upside down. As the boy shrieked with laughter, Buggy looked slightly flustered, glancing at Shanks as if he needed to justify his kindness. “Don’t look at me like that. The kid and I might have been enemies once, but I’m a mature adult. I don’t kill kids. Plus, social services are a nightmare in this century. I have a reputation to uphold, and besides, having a kid is a great totem for gaining sympathy and advantages in this life.”

Shanks remained silent, merely nodding with a knowing, lopsided grin. In his head, he was already mentally ticking boxes; Buggy could claim “social engineering” all he liked, but that tender look he had just given Luffy was pure, unadulterated fatherly love. Shanks knew better than to push it, though. He had a master’s degree in rizziology, and he knew that coming on too strong right now would only send the prickly chef running for the hills.

“I quite agree,” Shanks said smoothly, gesturing toward the park exit. “Shall we go? I would hate for the restaurant to give away our table.”

Buggy squinted at him, eyes narrowing in deep suspicion. He pulled Luffy closer into a protective hug, barely even flinching when the boy reached up, snatched Buggy’s yellow beanie, and pulled it over his own messy raven hair. The hat was far too large, sliding down over Luffy’s eyes, but Buggy just held him steady.

Shanks stopped in his tracks, his hands in his pockets. “What? Is there something on my face?” he asked, his voice dripping with cheeky charm.

Buggy snapped. He reached out with his free hand and gave Shanks’s waist a sharp, indignant pinch. “Stop doing that! Stop being so... strange! Are you always like this?”

“This charming? Usually, yes,” Shanks chuckled.

Buggy looked like he wanted to explode. “You were such a headache before. A total brat. But now... you’re actually helpful. You’re polite. You’ve got a small, nice nose, your hair doesn’t look like a bird’s nest and you actually wear clothes that fit—” He caught himself, his mouth snapping shut. “Whatever! We’re not talking about the past! I’m glad your brain actually developed this time around!”

He turned on his heel, stomping away with Luffy giggling on his hip. Shanks watched him go, feeling a surge of genuine happiness. He was officially an upgrade on his previous incarnation. I will take those odds, he thought, following close behind.

Chapter Text

Shanks leaned back against the wrought-iron bench, letting out a long sigh. It was officially unbelievable. Not five minutes ago, Luffy had been bouncing off the walls of the restaurant, debating the merits of different types of dessert, and now, he was a slumped, snoring weight in Buggy’s arms.

The kid was a biological marvel—or perhaps a glitch in the matrix. He ate like a black hole, possessed the energy of a solar flare, and then, without a second’s warning, simply ceased to function. Eat, play, nap. Eat, play, nap. Shanks shook his head slowly. If he could reincarnate a third time, he was definitely putting in a request for Luffy’s life.

The afternoon sun was hanging low over the Thames, casting a soft, golden glow across the city. From their vantage point, the Big Ben stood tall and stoic against a clear sky, its chimes muffled by the distant hum of London traffic. The weather was perfect, the air crisp and fresh, but for Shanks, the scenery was merely a backdrop.

He tried to be subtle. He really did.

He told himself to watch the tourists, or the river, or even his own shoes. But the gravitational pull was too strong. Subtlety was for pilots navigating storms, not for men who had finally found their “One.” Abandoning any pretence of interest in the architecture, Shanks turned his head and simply started to stare at Buggy, mesmerised by the way the sunlight caught the sharp lines of his profile.

Buggy slowly turned his head, the movement cautious so as not to disturb the sleeping child. He had clearly noticed the heavy weight of Shanks’s gaze, well… it was impossible not to, given that Shanks was currently staring with the subtlety of a searchlight.

Instead of the usual explosion of temper, Buggy simply let out a quiet, tired sigh. “Don’t wake him up,” he whispered. “What is your problem? Why are you gawking at me like that?”

Shanks wanted to ask why Buggy was so impossibly pretty in this light, how his hair could be that specific shade of electric blue or why he smelled faintly of roses. Most of all, his eyes were locked on Buggy’s nose—round, red and perfectly unique. He loved it. Every ancestral instinct screamed at him to play it cool, but he realised that if he didn’t make a move now, he would be stuck in the friendzone for the next century.

“I really like your nose,” Shanks blurted out.

He immediately wanted to crawl into the Thames and sink. A master’s degree in rizziology, he cursed himself, and that is the best you can do? He braced for impact, expecting Buggy to take offence or for their “relationship progress bar” to plummet to zero. In any life, mentioning a man’s nose felt like a gamble.

But then, the unexpected happened. Buggy didn’t snap. Instead, a genuine, wide smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made Shanks’s heart do a somersault. He looked happy.

“You’re so silly,” Buggy said, grinning as he adjusted Luffy’s weight in his arms. “I suppose being pampered by the Figarland family all your life has turned your brain to mush. You have such a stupid face and an even stupider smile. Does that line actually work on people in this world, or are you just that lucky?”

“Lucky? Perhaps,” Shanks grinned, undeterred by the insult to his brain. “But it’s easy to be sincere with you. I might not remember the ‘old days’, but my heart clearly does. It doesn’t feel like starting from zero. You mean a lot to me, Buggy. More than I can put into words.”

Buggy looked like he wanted to either bolt for the bridge or hide under his own beanie. “Hush! Stop it!” he hissed, glancing down at the snoring boy. “The brat is right here! Keep your ‘rizz’ to yourself!”

“The brat is currently an organic vegetable,” Shanks chuckled. “And honestly, even if he were staring right at us, he wouldn’t grasp what’s happening. We could have a full cinematic make-out session right now and he would just ask when we’re having dinner.”

“Gross! You’re making this so cliché,” Buggy grumbled, though his breathing had hitched.

“I’m just being honest,” Shanks murmured, moving into Buggy’s personal space.

“Back off!” Buggy squeaked, leaning away. “You can’t just act like this. You’re behaving like some scripted romantic interest, and I’m the one who’s supposed to be the main character! Not that it’s a surprise, I’ve always been the star of the show, but you’re—” He trailed off, breathless, as he caught Shanks’s eyes.

“Stop looking at me with that stupid face!” Buggy barked. He reached out and gave Shanks’s waist another sharp pinch. “You’re just like the rest of your family! You Figarlands are all the same—too much hair, too much confidence and that infuriatingly perfect smile that makes people want to throw things at you!”

Shanks did not say a word because internally, he was doing a victory lap. He felt absolutely happy, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The attraction was mutual—it was written in the frantic flush on Buggy’s neck. Therefore, Shanks was seconds away from tossing the “gentleman” act out of the window and pulling Buggy in for a kiss that would make the Big Ben stop ticking.

Then—

His triumphant mood plummeted into a dark, swirling abyss of sudden trauma. Wait. Buggy knew about the past life, but he had just spoken about the Figarlands with a terrifying level of contemporary familiarity. You’re just like the rest of them, Buggy had said. Not “you were,” but “you are.”

A cold panic flared in Shanks’s chest.

He knew his father, Garling, and his insufferable twin brother were exactly the type to frequent the high-end establishments Buggy catered for. Had they already seen him? Had those vultures hovered around his Buggy while Shanks was busy taking care of Luffy? The thought of his father’s cold, judging eyes or his brother’s arrogance directed at the man currently holding Luffy made Shanks’s blood run cold.

“Shanks?” Buggy’s voice was tentative, breaking through the static in his brain. He shifted Luffy slightly, peering at Shanks with a flicker of genuine concern. “Why have you suddenly gone quiet? If you’re going to have a breakdown in the middle of a public park, please give me a warning so I can take Luffy and run.”

“Sorry,” Shanks lied, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. He tried to sound casual, as if they were discussing the weather. “I was just surprised you brought them up. Have you had the... pleasure of meeting my father and brother recently?”

Buggy adjusted the sleeping Luffy, his expression one of mild annoyance. “You’re acting very strange. But yes, I know of them. Everyone from the old world knows the Figarlands were absolute arseholes. It seems to have translated perfectly into this life—except now, instead of actual executions, they just use their money like a blunt instrument. They live as if the very air they breathe is more expensive than everyone else’s.”

Shanks felt a prickle of cold sweat at the back of his neck, but he maintained his ‘pilot face’. “So, they were at the gala today?”

“Obviously,” Buggy remarked, peering at Shanks as if he were being particularly dim. “It was a high-society event. Garling and Shamrock were practically the guest of honour’s shadows. They spent half the morning lurking around the kitchen area, supposedly ‘overseeing’ the quality of the service for their dear friend Imu.”

Shanks’s stomach dropped. Why could they not just stay in their ivory tower and leave people alone?

“They were incredibly persistent,” Buggy added, huffing. “They kept cornering me, asking about my training and my signature dishes. They even offered me a ridiculous sum to quit my job and become their private chef at the penthouse.”

“What did you tell them?”

Buggy’s grin widened, his eyes crinkling in that beautiful, heart-stopping way. “I told them that my soul is not for sale, and neither is my risotto. I told them to go find some other sucker to look down on, because I don’t take orders from people who think they’re gods just because they have a penthouse in Belgravia.”

He then let out a bark of laughter, looking more pleased with himself than a cat with a bowl of cream. “You should have seen their faces! I have dreamt of telling people like that to sod off my entire life. I don’t care how much money they have, I’m perfectly prepared to punch those posh gits in the crotch and find a new job.”

The outburst caused Luffy to stir, his small head lolling against Buggy’s shoulder. Buggy immediately froze, letting out a soft curse under his breath. “Go back to sleep, you brat,” he mumbled. “Nothing is happening. It’s not time for you to run around and give me a headache yet. Stay quiet.”

Watching the way the afternoon light caught the sharp line of Buggy’s profile, Shanks felt something in his chest settle. It was a silent accumulation of things: the rasp of that laugh against the London air, the way those eyes narrowed with a fire that no amount of Figarland money could ever buy and the curve of that nose that seemed to defy the world’s expectations.

It was not even about their past lives or some ancient destiny. It was just Buggy.

People always spoke about finding their “missing piece” or a “soulmate puzzle,” but Shanks had always found those metaphors too tidy. To him, meeting Buggy felt more like a mid-air engine failure—a sudden, violent loss of control that forced him to stop looking at the horizon and start looking at what was right in front of him. It was a spectacular, beautiful crash, and he never wanted to be rescued.

Buggy let out a long, weary sigh as Luffy’s head finally stopped lolling and settled deeply into his shoulder. The crisis of an awake, hyperactive child was averted for now. He stayed still for a heartbeat, then noticed the heavy silence coming from the other end of the bench. He turned, catching Shanks anchored to him with that same intense, unblinking gaze.

“Again?” Buggy hissed in a harsh whisper, narrowing his eyes. “What is wrong with you? You look star-struck. Honestly, it’s normal when you are sat next to Buggy the Star—well, Chef, but same difference. My brilliance is a lot to take in.”

Shanks’s mouth curved, slow and helpless. “Not star-struck. You-struck. There’s no cure for that, is there?”

Buggy blinked. “What did you say?”

Shanks flushed, the red creeping up from his collar to the tips of his ears. He softened his smile, let it turn unguarded and a little bit helpless. “I… really don’t know what to say,” he confessed, ducking his chin. “How about from now on we stay together? Spend the rest of our lives together? Because I really want to be with you, Buggy.”

The silence that followed was so heavy it felt like flying through a thick cloud bank without any radar.

Holy landing gear.

Mayday. Mayday. Shanks felt his soul trying to eject from his body.

Did I really just say that? Out of a million smooth, pilot-grade lines—like “I want to be the wind beneath your wings” or “You are my destination”—he had gone for something that sounded more like a marriage proposal than a request for a first date. He wanted to break the fourth wall, grab the readers by the shoulders, and beg them to tell him if he was being a total cringe-lord. He blamed the author, honestly, but why was he so lame? They had not even reached the ‘boyfriend’ stage, and here he was, basically asking for a shared retirement plan.

Shanks opened his mouth to try and retract the statement before the crash was final, but Buggy let out a dry “Geez,” rolling his eyes. “You really are predictably ridiculous, Red. No sense of pacing at all.”

Shanks blinked, his panic shifting into confusion. “Predictable?”

Buggy sighed, looking out toward the Thames with an unreadable expression.

“Did I not tell you? People are always obsessed with me. Well, mostly it’s you. No matter when or where, you’re always so fixated on me. Clearly, in this life too, even if you have no memories in that thick skull.” He turned back, his smile turning soft—almost sad, but with a flicker of genuine warmth. “Why are you even asking? You caused enough trouble for me in the last life. So, clearly, you should stay here in this one so I can keep you out of trouble. I can’t have you wandering off and breaking things.”

Shanks’s heart did a spectacular barrel roll. Buggy said yes. He actually said yes. Shanks let out a long breath of relief, a wide grin breaking across his face. He shifted, casually draping his arm across the back of the bench behind Buggy’s shoulders. “Me? Trouble? I never make trouble.”

Buggy snorted, leaning back against the bench. Shanks felt the sudden, radiating warmth of the other man’s back against his draped arm, a sensation that made his skin prickle in the best possible way. “Oh, really?” Buggy stated, a wicked glint in his eye. “Because Shamrock told me all about your little ‘navigational error’ in the south of France last summer. You know, the one involving a rented convertible and a very expensive fountain?”

Shanks straightened his back, his arm remaining firmly behind Buggy, but his face fell into a mask of pure betrayal. “That absolute arse-licking, back-stabbing wanker! Why on earth did he tell you that? I told him that was strictly off the record!”

Buggy started to grin, but his focus shifted as Luffy let out a long, dramatic yawn. “Oh, looks like the monster is waking up.”

Luffy blinked, rubbing his eyes and looking remarkably refreshed for someone who had been dead to the world ten minutes ago. “Buggy? Can we have Italian food tonight? I want the pasta that looks like hats!”

Buggy stood up immediately, completely ignoring Shanks’s existence. “Cappelletti? Yes, but only if you eat your greens too.”

“Hey! Wait a minute!” Shanks shouted, scrambling to his feet to follow them. “How close are you and Shamrock, anyway? What else did that prat say about me?”

Buggy just laughed, walking ahead with Luffy’s hand in his, throwing a wave over his shoulder. Shanks felt a twinge of annoyance—not at Buggy, never at Buggy—but at his brother’s big mouth. Still, as he watched them, he felt a surge of quiet contentment. He had followed Buggy across lifetimes, and in this one, he was more than happy to keep following, right by his side.

“Shall I carry him for a bit?” Shanks asked, reaching out.

“Hands off,” Buggy warned, pulling Luffy closer. “Don’t try and steal my kid.”

“He’s my kid too!” Shanks replied, grinning.

Luffy looked up, eyes wide and innocent. “So I can call Shanks ‘Papa’ now?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT WORD?!” Buggy’s voice boomed across the park.

Shanks stood before the full-length mirror in his hotel room, adjusting the hem of his jumper. He looked good—effortlessly so. He had opted for a soft, camel-toned knit with a bold, oversized cream check pattern, layered carefully over a crisp, blue-and-white pinstriped shirt.

The shirt tails peeked out just enough to keep the look relaxed, paired with slim-fit dark trousers and polished loafers that made his legs look like they went on for miles. He offered his reflection a casual, knowing tilt of the head; he was well aware of his own appeal, but today, the effort felt specifically directed.

He pulled out his phone, angled it to obscure his face while leaving that confident, lopsided grin visible, and snapped a photo. He fired it off to the group chat with a quick caption: [First official date with Buggy. Wish me luck.]

Beckman : First date?

Yasopp : I’m confused. Are we skipping the part where you already basically adopted a toddler with this man?

Lucky Roux : Only you would try to put a ‘first date’ label on a relationship that’s already at the ‘joint-custody’ stage.

Hongo : If this is just the first date, I dread to see the outfit you pick for the actual wedding you’re clearly planning.

Shanks checked his reflection one last time, smoothing the checked fabric of his jumper before heading for the door. His phone was a constant weight in his palm, buzzing with a mixture of disbelief and ruthless teasing. The Red Force group chat was currently debating whether this was a sophisticated prank or if Shanks had finally suffered a total romantic breakdown.

Hongo : I’m still not convinced.

Hongo : Send a photo of the man or I’m assuming you are dating a hallucination caused by jet lag.

Lucky Roux : Wait, is Buggy actually a real human person?

Shanks : I’m in it for the man. He is stunning, actually. Even better than the versions of him I see when I’m dreaming.

Beckman : You’re actually sickening. Tell us where you are taking him.

Shanks : Just the London staples. A bit of sightseeing, a nice walk. Keeping it casual.

Then, Yasopp added a string of heart emojis that Shanks knew were purely to wind him up.[ “Aww, look at him. Our little Shanks has his first proper crush! Banchina says she is proud of you for finally growing up. Also, don’t forget—if this works out, Luffy and Usopp need to meet. I need a co-parenting ally.”]

“Hi, Shanks! Why are you so happy? Did you do a good poop?”

The sheer volume of the question caused several tourists in the hotel lobby to turn their heads. Shanks, who had been grinning at his phone, nearly tripped over the edge of the plush carpet. He looked up to find Buggy standing near the concierge desk, looking equal parts mortified and resigned.

“I’m fine, Anchor, and for the record, that isn’t information for the general public,” Shanks laughed, closing the distance between them.

Buggy let out a low, pained mumble. “I can’t go anywhere with you two. I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Shanks simply grinned and reached out, neatly hoisting Luffy from Buggy’s arms.

The boy was dressed in another ridiculously cute ensemble today, feeling wonderfully fluffy in Shanks’s embrace. He felt a sudden urge to squeeze the life out of the kid—Luffy was just so soft, a little ball of endless energy that smelled faintly of strawberry milk. Luffy giggled, wrapping his small, sturdy arms around Shanks’s neck and squeezing back with surprising strength.

Over the boy’s shoulder, Shanks’s gaze finally settled on Buggy.

He took in the sight: Buggy was wearing a loose, vertical-striped shirt in black and white, the cuffs folded back to reveal a glimpse of a ring on his finger. He had paired it with slim black trousers featuring a single, sharp rip at the knee and polished black derbies.

Shanks took a breath. “You look incredible,” he said. He braced himself for a snap or a sharp-tongued rebuttal, but it never came. Instead, Buggy just let out a huff, his fingers hovering over his collar as he looked away. He did not say thank you—he would never be that easy—but the tips of his ears had turned a shade of pink.

“Right then,” Shanks said, shifting his focus to the bundle of energy in his arms. “Are you ready to have some fun today, Luffy?”

“Yay! Adventure! Mysteries!” Luffy cheered, waving a fist. “Just like the old times, but in... in Land-on!”

“London.”

“That’s what I said! Land-on!”

“No, you definitely said Land-on. It’s Lon-don,” Shanks tried again, but before he could launch into a proper phonetic lesson, a sharp pinch at his waist made him yelp. “Ouch! Buggy!”

Buggy was already moving toward the door, his nose in the air. “Don’t argue with stupid people. I’ve told the kid a thousand times and he still gets it wrong. There’s no point in wasting your breath on the hopeless.”

Shanks’s smile widened, his heart doing a little dance at the idea of Buggy looking out for his mental well-being. He hoisted Luffy up, catching the boy’s eye. “Did you hear that, Luffy? Your dad just called you stupid.”

Luffy’s bottom lip pouted. “I’m not stupid! I can eat ten meat skewers at once!” He looked genuinely offended that his culinary talents were being overlooked.

Buggy pivoted on his heel with the speed of a striking cobra. Before Shanks could register the movement, Buggy’s fingers were clamped firmly onto Shanks’s ear, twisting it with a sharp tug.

“What the hell did you just say to my kid?” Buggy hissed. “I’m the only one allowed to call him stupid, you hear me? It’s a parent-guardian privilege! I say it with love and flashy flair, which makes it an endearment. If you say it, you are just being a prat. Set some boundaries!”

“Ouch, ouch! Buggy, let go!” Shanks squeaked, leaning his head down to ease the tension on his earlobe. “People are watching us. Have some mercy.”

“As if I care!” Buggy snapped, though he kept his grip for a second longer just to prove a point. “They are only watching because I’m flashy and great. It’s a natural reaction to perfection.” He finally let go, turning his fury toward the boy. “And you! I said you’re stupid because it’s London, not Land-on! The two things are completely unrelated, you brat!”

“No way! You’re the stupid one!” Luffy barked back, sticking out his tongue.

“The hell did you just say?!” Buggy roared.

In one motion, he snatched Luffy from Shanks’s arms. Shanks stood frozen in shock as Buggy grabbed Luffy by a single leg and held him upside down, shaking him gently like a dusty rug. “You’ll respect your elders! I’ve changed your nappies and fed you for years! I’m the flashy authority here!” Luffy, far from being scared, simply dangled there with his hat falling off, giggling hysterically at the upside-down view of the street.

“Ok, ok! You are the boss, Buggy!”

Shanks stood there with his hand clamped over his ear, which was still throbbing with a dull, persistent heat. He was caught between wanting to cry out in pain and laughing at the absurdity of the scene. He watched, genuinely impressed, as Buggy held Luffy aloft. The kid was light, certainly, but to hold a wriggling, giggling child upside down by a single ankle with such a relaxed, steady grip required a level of strength that Buggy usually kept hidden under those loose sleeves.

“Stupid monkey brain,” Buggy mumbled, seemingly reached the end of his patience. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed Luffy into the air.

Shanks’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “Holy—! Buggy, what the hell!” He lunged forward, arms outstretched in a panicked reflex to catch the boy, but Luffy simply performed a mid-air somersault, corrected his position, and landed perfectly back in Buggy’s waiting arms with a delighted squeal.

“Again! Again!” Luffy cheered, patting Buggy’s cheeks.

“That was dangerous as hell, Buggy! You can’t just throw a child in the street!” Shanks gasped, his heart rate finally beginning to descend from the stratosphere.

Buggy merely adjusted his grip, looking entirely unbothered. “Calm down, Shanks. I’m stronger than I look. Catching the kid is like catching a tennis ball.” He glanced down at the boy. “Besides, even if I missed, he would probably just dent the pavement with that skull of his.”

Shanks let out a shaky sigh of relief, though he still looked horrified. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Buggy adjusted his hold, his eyes crinkling as he smirked at Shanks’s pale face. “Consider it a lesson. I’m quite enjoying seeing you this stressed. It suits you.”

Shanks walked half a step behind them, his heart still thudding against his ribs like a trapped bird. He stared at the back of Buggy’s head, watching the vibrant blue strands catch the sunlight.

I am definitely a masochist, he thought, a dazed, helpless smile spreading across his face. Buggy was terrifying, unpredictable and apparently capable of using a toddler as a projectile, yet Shanks found himself falling even harder. He was down bad—utterly, hopelessly sunk—and he did not regret a single second of it.

They tapped their Oyster cards at the barriers and navigated the Underground with practised ease, emerging into the vibrant chaos of Piccadilly Circus. It was early June, and the weather was that perfect British middle ground—not too hot, but with a crisp breeze that kept the crowds from feeling stifled.

“Look! A naked baby with a bow!” Luffy shouted, pointing at the fountain in the centre of the square.

“That’s the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain,” Shanks explained, stepping closer to ensure Luffy did not decide to climb the railings. “The statue on top is Anteros, the god of selfless love. He’s actually Cupid’s brother.”

“Oh! Like the man with the white beard in the sky?” Luffy asked, tilting his head.

Buggy let out a long, suffering sigh. “No, you brat. That was a completely different egomaniac. This one is just a statue of a minor deity. Honestly, even in this life, you confuse your legends.” He turned to Shanks, shifting Luffy’s weight as the boy tried to squirm toward the water. “He thinks every statue is a ‘Skypiea’ relic.”

“Have you been to London much before?” Shanks asked, staying close to Buggy’s shoulder as a wave of tourists surged past them.

“I told you! I’ve been to the UK, just not Land-on!” Luffy chirped before Buggy could speak.

Buggy ignored the mispronunciation for his own sanity. “I’ve been in this country a few times for work. Shakky has sent me all over for high-end catering. I’ve done events in the Cotswolds, Oxford and even a week-long wedding in Bath. The kitchens in those old Georgian houses are a nightmare.”

“I love Bath too!” Luffy chimed in, bouncing on his feet. “We went to the big swimming pool with the Roman statues. And the tea was so good! Makino taught me how to hold the cup with my pinky out like a proper gentleman.”

Buggy tightened his grip on Luffy’s jacket as the boy began to lurch toward a passing street performer. “It was stressful as hell,” he stated. “I spent the entire week trying to stop him from doing a cannonball into the Great Bath.” He paused, a rare, soft look crossing his face. “Though, I have to give it to Makino. That woman actually worked wonders with him. The only time he acts like a civilised human being is during high tea. She must have had the patience of a saint in the old life to manage that.”

Luffy was not listening, his head swivelling toward the street. “Look! The giant red buses! And the little red houses for telephones!” He started dragging them toward a row of iconic phone booths, pointing at a busker nearby who was creating giant soap bubbles.

As they wandered further into the heart of the city, Luffy suddenly stopped and sniffed the air.

“I smell meat! Let’s eat now!”

“Absolutely not,” Buggy said, catching Luffy by the back of his shirt. “It’s not even time for your mid-morning snack yet. Besides, I can make a steak that would make that place look like a greasy spoon.” Luffy let out a dramatic whine, his face scrunching up in betrayal. Shanks let out a bark of laughter. The kid really is a walking black hole, he thought, watching Luffy’s stomach somehow growl on cue.

Shanks lagged a few paces behind, surreptitiously pulling out his phone to document the sight of Buggy trying to corral a pouting Luffy. He managed to snap a candid shot of Buggy against the backdrop of a red phone box, his blue hair vivid in the June sun. He fired it off to the group chat with a caption: [Told you he was real. Jealous yet?]

The response was instantaneous.

Lucky Roux : He actually exists!

Lucky Roux : And he looks like he would murder you for a fiver. He’s perfect for you, Shanks.

Yasopp : I’m shocked. He’s exactly the prickly, gorgeous type you’ve been pining over in your head for years.

Yasopp : You actually hit the jackpot.

Hongo : Look at the way he’s holding the kid. He looks like a proper dad.

Beckman : Enough with the gushing. Are you actually together yet?

Lucky Roux : Calm down, Beck! Let the man have his moment. He’s moving at his own pace.

Yasopp : The first step is the most important!

Yasopp : Shanks, take a selfie of the three of you. That’s your new wallpaper sorted.

Shanks’s thumbs flew across the screen, a grin plastered on his face. [I am getting there,] he typed. He specifically tagged Benn: [Especially you, Beck. You act all cool and mysterious, and people flock to you because you are the “older man” type, but you are still just as single as I was yesterday!]

Beckman : That is a choice. And unlike you, I am not a thirty-year-old virgin. There is a difference between being single and being inexperienced.

Hongo : Alright, let us not start demonising people’s life choices. Being a virgin is not the point here; the point is that Shanks is actually acting like a functioning human for once.

Yasopp : No more talking! Shanks, where is the selfie? We need proof of life and proof of love!

Shanks sighed, shaking his head. It was only half-past nine in the morning in London, which meant it was mid-afternoon in Thailand. [Do you people not have jobs?] he messaged. [Why are you so invested in my romantic timeline?]

Yasopp : We are on a break! Now, have you got the photo yet?

Shanks was about to reply that wrangling a selfie out of Buggy was about as easy as landing a plane in a hurricane, but a shadow fell over his screen. “Is there a reason you are glued to that screen?” Buggy asked, his eyebrow arched in a way that made Shanks’s heart stutter. “If I wanted to spend my morning with a silent lump, I would have stayed at the hotel and talked to the furniture.”

Shanks stuttered for a second, his thumbs freezing over the keyboard. He started to formulate a complex excuse about work emails, but he stopped himself; it sounded pathetic even in his own head. “Sorry,” he muttered, finally locking the screen. “I was just... my friends are bombarding me. They didn’t believe you were real, so I had to send some proof.”

Buggy snorted, a sharp but not unkind sound, as he shifted Luffy to his other hip. “You really are the beloved bastard son of the universe, are you not? You won the cosmic lottery twice over—you have your family name and a pack of loyal idiots following you in this life too.”

Shanks opened his mouth to defend them, but Buggy waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t a snarky remark. I just find it funny. Luffy already told me all about your little fan club.”

“Well, my friends are your friends too,” Shanks said softly. “They don’t know you yet, but they will. And they’re going to love you.”

Buggy offered a small smile. “I know that. People generally do love me.”

Shanks felt a weight lift off his chest. “True. Like you said, people are obsessed with you.” His phone gave another insistent vibration, but he shoved it deep into his pocket. “I will ignore them now. I do not want to be one of those ‘phubbers’—you know, the ‘head-down tribe’ who can’t look away from a screen.”

Buggy tilted his head, watching him curiously. “What is it they actually want, anyway? My signature? Is that why they’re blowing up your pocket?”

Shanks rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit sheepish. “Actually... they want a selfie. Of all three of us.” He said it casually, fully expecting Buggy to scoff or tell him to get lost. To his absolute surprise, Buggy’s face lit up and he let out a genuine laugh.

“Well, what are they waiting for then? Take one! I’m far too flashy to be kept a secret.”

“Yay! Photo! Photo!” Luffy cheered, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Right, everyone together!” Shanks laughed, pulling Buggy closer.

The Shakespeare statue behind them was almost entirely obscured by their heads—Buggy’s vibrant blue hair, Luffy’s wide grin and Shanks’s own beaming face filled the frame. They looked like a real family, a thought that made Shanks’s chest feel tight in the best possible way.

Click.

The photo was saved.

The moment of peace lasted exactly three seconds.

A blur of motion tore past them. Before Shanks could even register the sensation, his phone was ripped from his hand. “Hey!” he shouted, his reflex a second too slow. But Buggy was already ahead of him. Despite holding a wriggling Luffy on one hip, Buggy moved. In one fluid motion, he snatched the thief by his hoodie, hauling him backward. Simultaneously, Buggy’s leg snapped up, delivering a direct strike to the man’s groin.

Shanks hissed through his teeth, instinctively curling inward at the sight. The thief collapsed onto the pavement, clutching his crotch and letting out a high-pitched moan. Buggy didn’t even look down as he handed the phone back to a stunned Shanks.

“You really need to watch your belongings,” Buggy remarked, steering them back onto the path. “Big cities are all the same—thieves everywhere. Don’t let your guard down just because the sun is out.”

Shanks stood there, phone in hand, watching Buggy walk away with a calm, steady stride. The sheer efficiency of it—the way Buggy hadn’t even broken his rhythm—was breath-taking. Oh. If Shanks had any reservations about where this date was going, they had just been kneed into oblivion along with that thief.

Chapter Text

At the age of nine, Ace had already figured out that his family was not normal.

His father, Gol D. Roger, was a pilot with a reputation that bordered on mythical, while his mother, Portgas D. Rouge, ran Golden Age Air like a finely tuned engine. This meant the household was flush with cash. Ace was well aware of their status, but he did not suffer from the “lonely rich kid” trope. In fact, he lived the opposite nightmare: his parents worked remarkably little and spent every waking moment trying to be his best friend.

It was sweet and, in Ace’s opinion, a bit thick.

It made Ace wonder about the karmic balance of the universe. He had this nagging hypothesis—purely speculative—that maybe they had both failed him spectacularly in a past life. He imagined a scenario where his father was a man who chose a chaotic death over being a dad, and his mother was equally mad, sacrificing her own life just to ensure his birth in some hideout.

If they had both been that melodramatic and foolish before, their current obsession with family dinners and constant hugs made sense. It was as if they were trying to make up for a lifetime where their own poor choices meant they never got to see him grow up at all.

“Get away! You are smothering me!” Ace yelled, trying to duck out of the dual-parental pincer movement. He was supposed to be reviewing his history notes, but it was hard to focus when your parents were treating you like a stuffed toy. Mum was currently squeezing him so tightly he feared for his ribs.

“My little genius,” she said, kissing his temple. “You’re going to run the airline one day, I just know it.”

On the other side, Dad was practically vibrating with pride. “He has got the spirit of a captain,” Dad wailed, tears actually streaming down his face. “I can’t handle how perfect Ace is. My son, the scholar!”

“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Ace roared, reaching his limit. He shoved his palms out, his left hand connecting with Roger’s nose and his right pushing Rouge’s face back. “I need to work! Can you not see I am busy? You are both so fucking embarrassing! Honestly, do you not have anything better to do with your lives?”

Rouge recoiled, clutching her chest in shock. “Ace! Language! We don’t use words like that in this house!”

“Blame him!” Ace snarled, pointing a finger at Dad.

Rouge turned on Roger. “Roger! You’re a bad influence. You’re corrupting him with your road-rage mouth!”

Roger leant back, surrendering with a grin that was far too pleased with itself. “I cannot help it if the boy has a sharp ear!” He winked at Ace, ignoring the boy’s fury. “Actually, he is exactly like me. Tough, loud and knows what he wants. He definitely learned that from his dad!”

“Excuse me?” Rouge interjected, her eyes flashing with outrage. “If he has a temper, it’s certainly my temper. And look at those freckles and that charm! He didn’t get those from your side of the family, Roger. Ace is my son through and through.”

Roger gasped, looking genuinely offended. “He has my jawline and my eyes! And let’s be honest, darling, I’m far too charming for my own good—it was inevitable he would inherit my magnetism.” He tried to lean in smoothly, offering her a rakish wink, but Rouge simply swatted him away.

“Please. And I’m much better at doting on him than you are,” she stated, tossing her hair. “I bought Ace that private island in the Maldives last month just so he could have a quiet place to study his geography. It has a fully staffed library and a retractable roof!”

“Oh, is that all?” Roger countered, not to be outdone. “I got Ace his own vintage Spitfire to park in the garden. I even had the engine gold-plated so he could learn about mechanics in style. That’s what a real father does!”

“ARE YOU BOTH MENTAL?” Ace exploded, slamming his book shut. “I used the library on that island as a giant fort for my toy soldiers, and I let the gardener’s cat sleep in the gold-plated engine! They were stupid gifts!” He went suddenly silent, taking a deep breath. “Look... I’m grateful. I really am. But you both seriously need professional help. Therapy, maybe? You’re obsessed. I just want to be a normal kid, not a spoiled brat.”

Ace sighed, gathering his books. He decided his bedroom was the only safe haven left.

As he turned to leave, he glanced back. Roger and Rouge were now standing together, Rouge leaning her head against Roger’s chest while she let out a theatrical sob. Roger was hugging her tightly, his own eyes brimming with tears as they gazed at their son.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Ace asked, deadpan, before walking out.

“He is so perfect,” Rouge sobbed into Roger’s shirt. “Did you hear him, Roger? Ace is so humble. He doesn’t even want the gold-plated Spitfire. We’ve raised a saint.”

“The best son in the world,” Roger agreed as he held her tighter. “He is so grounded. So wise. I love Ace so much it hurts, Rouge. It actually hurts!”

Ace’s face contorted in a mask of pure disgust. He had intended to storm off, but the sheer level of melodrama was like a physical barrier. He decided not to explode again. clearly, shouting only made them more emotional. “Whatever,” he muttered, adjusting the books in his arms. “I’m going to my room. Don’t come in. Don’t knock. Just leave me alone so I can actually learn something.”

“Of course, Captain!” Roger chirped, instantly switching from sobbing to a beaming, teary-eyed smile. “Good luck with the studies! Conquer those books!”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, darling,” Rouge added, dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “And make sure you have a snack. You can’t possibly study on an empty stomach. It’s bad for the brain!”

Ace looked at the grandfather clock in the foyer. “Are you actually stupid? It’s nearly half-past six. It’s almost supper time.” He narrowed his eyes at them. “What is the plan? Are you trying to fatten me up so I’m too wide to fit through the front door? Is that it? If I can’t leave the house, you can hover over me forever. Your overprotectiveness is genuinely terrifying.”

“Nonsense!” Roger laughed, waving a hand. “We’re the ‘D’ family, Ace! We eat like kings and burn it all off before dessert. You could eat a whole cow and still be lean. It’s in our blood!”

“Oh, you father is right!” Rouge brightened. “We should have your favourite for dinner tonight to reward your hard work. What shall it be? Spicy meat? Or that specially aged wagyu I had flown in?”

Ace rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own brain. He felt like he would never actually make it past the threshold of the living room at this rate. “We eat whatever I want every single day,” he sighed, turning fully to face them with a look of genuine worry. “Seriously... why are you like this? This is concerning.”

The air in the foyer suddenly stilled.

The frantic energy and wailing evaporated, replaced by silence. Ace stood frozen on the bottom step, watching as Roger and Rouge actually seemed to process his words. For once, they looked sober, their expressions softening into something raw and genuinely vulnerable.

Thank the gods and the Buddha, Ace thought, they were actually using their brains.

“I am sorry, Ace,” Rouge said softly. She stepped forward. “We did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable or... trapped. I suppose we don’t always realise how suffocating we can be.”

Ace felt a little bit guilty. He shifted his weight, hugging his schoolbooks tighter against his chest. He opened his mouth to tell them it was fine, that he didn’t hate them, but the words caught in his throat.

“Your mother is right,” Roger added quietly but steadily. “We’re a bit much. It’s no excuse, but we just love you so much it’s hard to contain.”

Ace looked away, his cheeks flushing. “I know that,” he mumbled into his collar.

His parents moved closer. Rouge knelt down so she was at eye level with him, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “It sounds silly, I know,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “But sometimes I feel as though I made a terrible mistake or did something wrong to you before. When we had you ‘again’ in this life, it felt like a second chance. I just want to be the best mother I can be for you.”

Ace looked at her just as he felt his father’s large, warm hand rest on top of his head. Roger looked down at him with a small, teary smile. “I believe in that past life theory too,” Roger murmured. “Because the moment I met your mother, I just knew. It was as if I’d known her my whole life. And when you were born... it was the best thing that ever happened to me, but I felt this strange sadness too. As if I’d lost you once before. I just want to do my best and not mess up, whatever life this is.”

Ace remained silent.

Yes, yes, I know.

He felt it in the marrow of his bones. But Ace was nine, and he was a cool kid so he could not start acting like some tragic old soul or a character from a Victorian novel. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. But really. He understood exactly what they meant because, for as long as he could remember, he had carried the weight of a life he had never lived.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was elsewhere. He dreamt of a towering mountain where the trees tasted of salt and adventure, and of two boys—their faces always blurred or just out of reach—who called him ‘brother’. He could almost taste the sharp, woody bitterness of sake shared from a stolen bowl, and he could hear the high-pitched, toothy laughter of a younger brother who always seemed to be tripping over his own feet.

But the dreams were not always kind.

Sometimes, he felt a crushing heat in his chest, a searing pain that felt like fire but colder, more final. He would wake up gasping, clutching his ribs, smelling smoke and sea salt, feeling a strange sense of relief that he had died protected—though he had no idea why or from whom.

He looked at his mother’s expectant face and his father’s teary eyes. He took a deep breath, let out a long, dramatic sigh, and whispered in a small voice, “It is okay. Really.” He felt himself turning bright red, so he let out a fake cough to hide his embarrassment. “I mean... you both are a lot. Seriously. But as far as parents go... you aren’t the shittiest ones I could have ended up with. You’re alright.”

Before they could process, Ace bolted. He scrambled up the stairs, clutching his books to his chest, a genuine grin breaking across his face. He heard his mother’s sharp gasp of “Ace! Your language!” followed immediately by his father’s booming, infectious laughter echoing through the foyer.

Ace slammed his bedroom door shut, leaning his back against the wood as he let out a long breath. Finally, silence. No weeping millionaires, no gold-plated aircraft, just the glorious, quiet sanctuary of his own four walls. He walked over to his bed and tossed his heavy stack of textbooks onto the duvet with a satisfying thud.

“Oof!”

Ace nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling backwards until he hit his desk.

“What the—! Who’s there?”

The blankets began to heave and writhe like a living creature.

Slowly, a messy mop of black hair poked out, followed by a wide, toothy grin. A kid who looked a few years younger than Ace crawled out from the mess of pillows, throwing his arms up in the air. “I am Monkey D. Luffy! The man who was the King of the Pirates!” He paused, blinking as if trying to remember something. “I don’t know what I’m going to be in this life yet. Buggy said for now I just need to eat a lot of meat and grow up big.”

Ace’s jaw hit the floor. His bed had just given birth to a crazy person.

“Who—how—why are you in my house?” he stuttered, clutching a lamp as a makeshift club.

The kid tilted his head, looking at Ace with a pitying expression. “Is Ace stupid? I just said my name and that I am the Pirate King. Well, I was. Nice room, by the way. But why did you put those books on me? Knowledge doesn’t absorb through a blanket, you know.”

“I’m not stupid!” Ace shouted, his fear instantly replaced by his trademark temper. “I’m going to be a doctor! I’m a top student! My plan is to start my internship the moment I turn nine so I can have twenty years of experience by the time I actually graduate! Do you have any idea how competitive the medical market is? They want seniors in junior bodies, you little brat!”

“Oh! So Ace wants to be like Chopper! That is so cool!” the kid cheered, bouncing on the mattress with enough force to make the bedsprings groan. “Chopper is a great doctor. He can talk to reindeer and everything! I have been trying to find him, but Buggy says maybe he is not born yet because he is the youngest. Or maybe he is still a real reindeer somewhere and does not have a phone.”

Ace stared at the boy. Chopper? Talking to reindeer?

He tuned out the rest of the babble, his survival instincts finally kicking back in. “Stop! Just stop talking about reindeer,” Ace commanded, lowering the lamp but still looking suspicious. “Back to the point. How did you get in here? Who let you in? Did your parents lose you? You can’t just occupy people’s beds!”

“…And there is Torao too! He’s a doctor but very grumpy,” Luffy continued, completely ignoring Ace’s interrogation. “And Pineapple-head! He has blue flames and—”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Ace’s hand moved before his mind could even register the command. It was a swift, sharp smack to the top of Luffy’s head.

“Ow! That hurt!” Luffy cried, clutching his skull and squeezing his eyes shut. A second later, he opened one eye and grinned. “Actually, it didn’t. I just said it because it felt like I was supposed to say it. My head is rubber, remember? Well, maybe not now, but it feels like it!”

Ace stood frozen, his fist still raised and trembling. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He had moved instinctively, his body reacting with a fluid, practiced ease he had never used before. It felt like muscle memory—as if he had performed that exact strike a million times in another life.

“Anyway!” Luffy chirped, perking up instantly. “We should go eat. Angry Ace is always Hungry Ace!”

“I am NOT hungry!” Ace snapped. “I am confused! I am very, very confused!”

“Confused? Is that a new type of spice?” Luffy asked, his head tilting so far to the side it looked as if his neck might actually snap. “I’ve never eaten ‘Confused’ before, but if it’s meat, we should definitely fry it! Or maybe we can boil it with those little onions? Or roast it over a big fire until the skin goes all crunchy and—”

Luffy launched into a breathless, endless list of culinary possibilities.

Ace stood there, his arm finally dropping to his side, feeling a wave of profound exhaustion wash over him. He wasn’t even angry anymore. He just felt tired—a soul-deep weariness that made him want to lie down on the floor and let the carpet swallow him whole. He entertained a brief thought about whether he could fit himself into his own desk drawer just to find a moment of silence.

Luffy suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Ace? You don’t look so good. Do you need to poop?”

Ace let out a long, ragged sigh. He wasn’t even shocked by the question. In fact, a small part of him had almost been expecting it. “No, Luffy. I don’t need to poop,” he said to the ceiling.

Wait. He blinked, the name echoing in his mind. Luffy. He had called the kid “Luffy” so naturally, so effortlessly, as if he had been saying it since the day he learned to speak.

“Ace!” Luffy chirped again, poking his arm. “Ace! Ace! Ace!”

“Snap out of it! I am thinking, you idiot!” Ace barked, his hand flying to his forehead.

Luffy let out a dramatic gasp, his eyes wide with shock. “You can think? Ace has a brain?”

“Of course I have a brain! I have a highly developed prefrontal cortex responsible for executive functions and cognitive—” Ace stopped abruptly. Why was he even bothering? This kid clearly had a rubber brain.

Ace froze. Rubber brain? Where had that come from? It was a specific, biting insult that had just tumbled out of his mouth without a second thought. It felt... right. It felt like a fact he had known for a lifetime, even if it made absolutely no sense in the real world.

Luffy’s jaw dropped, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Then, his face split into a beam so bright it felt like someone had turned on a spotlight in the room.

“Ace remembers!” he cheered, bouncing on his heels. “You remember the rubber! That is because I was made of it! We were brothers, Ace! This is the ‘reincarnation’ thing Buggy keeps talking about. I remember everything! Buggy does too. I’ve found Shanks and your parents are alive and you’re here!”

Before Ace could process the tidal wave of insanity, the kid lunged forward. He wrapped his arms around Ace’s waist in a crushing hug. Ace stiffened. He was usually the type to guard his personal space like a fortress, but the moment the kid’s head hit his chest, the vanished.

He wanted to shout it from the rooftops: I know this hug. It felt like coming home after a thousand years in the cold; it felt like a warm hearth in the middle of a winter storm. It was the sensation of a missing piece of his soul finally clicking back into place.

“Do you remember me now?” Luffy asked, pulling back just enough to look up, his eyes wide and shimmering with a hopeful, bright intensity. “Do you remember us?”

Ace looked down into those eyes.

Of course I know you. You are the brat from the mountains. You are the sun. You are the clumsy idiot who always got eaten by a giant alligator and could not walk three paces without tripping over your own feet. But the memories remained just out of reach, like a film flickering in a dark room.

He let out a long, shaky sigh, slowly prying Luffy’s arms away. “Look...” Ace began. “I am sorry. I don’t... I don’t really remember. Not the way you do. I get glimpses, and I have these dreams, but I can’t really say I know what happened. I just... I really don’t know.”

Luffy grew still, his hands falling to his sides as he processed Ace’s confession. “Oh,” the kid replied, a small, pensive sound that made Ace’s heart ache.

Ace felt like the worst person on the planet.

He wanted to demand answers from whoever was responsible for this “reincarnation” mess. It felt like he was being cheated. He had a gut feeling that his previous existence had ended prematurely, but that it had been worth it because of the boy standing on his rug. If he could just grasp the memories, he could be the brother Luffy deserved. But instead, he was just a confused kid. He felt like a “bad brother” before the job had even begun.

Ace tried to think of something comforting, something “cool” and genius-like to say, but the silence stretched on.

Then, Luffy beamed, his smile so radiant it felt like a physical warmth hitting Ace’s face.

“Do not worry about it, Ace! It doesn’t matter!” Luffy declared. “It’s a new adventure! We can just start from now. I want to be your best friend, but even if you say no, it’s too late. I loved you then, and I love you now, and that’s just how it is! You’re stuck with me!”

Luffy lunged forward, throwing his arms around Ace in another rib-cracking hug.

“Shishishi! This is the best!” he laughed, his voice muffled against Ace’s chest. “It’s so great because now I can be big and strong too, and we can eat meat together and I can make sure nothing bad happens to you ever again!” There was an edge of protectiveness in his tone, a weight that sounded far too heavy for a child his size, yet it felt perfectly natural coming from him.

Ace’s hands hovered in the air for a moment, his logical brain screaming that this was moving too fast. They hadn’t mapped out the logistics of this “reincarnation” or discussed the gaps in their memories. It was completely illogical to accept a stranger—or a brother—this quickly. But as the warmth of the hug seeped through his shirt, Ace realised that no amount of information was better than this. He slowly let his hands drop, wrapping them around the smaller boy and leaning his chin on top of Luffy’s messy black hair.

He felt as though something was missing from the crown of Luffy’s head—a familiar texture of straw he had seen on the faceless brother in his dreams. That was fine. He would find a better one. A straw hat suited Luffy best, but perhaps Ace would commission a world-class designer to create a customised, indestructible one.

“Are you stupid or what?” Ace finally mumbled. “Don’t tell me what to do. Who said I was going to say no? I knew you were nothing but trouble the moment you crawled out from under my duvet, so someone clearly needs to keep an eye on you.”

Luffy let out a wet, shaky laugh, squeezing Ace even tighter. Ace felt the boy’s small frame begin to tremble, a silent dampness seeping into his polo shirt. He didn’t say a word. What a day. Homework was definitely off the table—he had a brother to look after now.

Chapter Text

Roger was never particularly gifted in the classroom, and maths, in particular, had always felt like a personal insult to his intelligence. He found himself staring blankly at the restaurant tablecloth, trying to calculate a sum that had nothing to do with numbers. If Ace had a brother now, did that make Luffy his son? But Luffy was Buggy’s ward, and Buggy was dating Shanks, who was Roger’s junior colleague and practically a nephew. Roger tried to visualise the family tree, but it looked less like a tree and more like a pile of tangled fishing line.

“Stop that, Roger,” Garp stated, reaching across the table to snatch a piece of bread. “You’re making that face again. The one where it looks like your two remaining brain cells are fighting for third place.”

Roger snapped out of his trance and levelled a finger at the older man. “Watch it, you old dog. I’m the one paying for this meal. One more comment about my face and I’ll have the waiter bring you the bill for the wine list.”

Garp let out a boisterous, glass-shattering laugh. “Threaten me all you like! We both know Rouge loves me too much to let me starve. If you don’t pay, she will. And if both of you’re too busy being stingy and spending every baht doting on Ace’s latest whim, then I’ll pay for the whole bloody restaurant myself just to show you up!”

“Stingy? We’re generous!” Roger retorted. “But I suppose I understand why you’re so eager to throw your money around. It’s a classic case of overcompensation. You’re just jealous because your son, Dragon, doesn’t show you half the affection that Ace shows us. Our boy actually likes being in the same room as his parents.”

Garp feigned a look of deep, mortal offence, clutching his chest before pointing a fork at Roger. “You cheeky brat! Dragon has his own way of showing love—it just involves fewer hugs and more silence. This is how the Monkey family operates. We don’t need to be attached at the hip to know we’re kin!”

“Ace isn’t attached to us,” Roger countered, looking genuinely insulted. “We respect his boundaries. We do things together sometimes because we understand the value of independence. Unlike your method, which seems to involve squeezed windpipes and constant demands.”

Garp scoffed, picking a piece of steak out of his teeth. “Respecting boundaries? Is that what you call it? You’re just too weak to be a real disciplinarian. This is how you raised children back then. You gave them a fist of love and they grew up to be men. Tough love is the only love that sticks to the ribs.”

Roger took a slow sip of sparkling water, his gaze cool and deadpan. He waited a beat before replying. “Right. And yet, Dragon is never around, is he? He is always ‘travelling’ or ‘exploring’ or doing literally anything that puts a few thousand miles between his front door and yours. One might suggest that karma is a bitch, Garp.”

“He’s a pioneer!” Garp barked. “My education made him the man he is today. He’s a world-renowned meteorologist and geopolitical analyst. My son is constantly moving because he’s chasing storms and solving global crises. He’s a success story!”

Roger replied, “If that’s the story you need to tell yourself to close your eyes at night, who am I to argue?”

Garp launched a piece of crusty bread across the table, hitting Roger squarely in the shoulder. “I sleep like a baby, you cheeky scoundrel! My conscience is clear!”

Roger brushed the crumbs off his suit and let out a weary sigh. Truly, he thought, agreeing to a meal with this old dog was the most regrettable decision of his entire life. Garp was a retired Vice Admiral of the Navy—a man who had spent forty years commanding fleets and shouting at clouds. It had been through Garp’s military connections that Roger, a hot-shot pilot with more ego than flight hours, had first been introduced to the board of Golden Age Airlines. And, more importantly, to Rouge.

He supposed he owed Garp everything.

It was Garp who had inadvertently handed him the keys to his career and the heart of his wife. Roger believed in that past-life nonsense—he felt it every time he looked at Rouge—but he often found himself asking the gods and Buddha what horrific crime he had committed in a previous existence to be tethered to this loud, bread-throwing menace. Basically, he had found his soulmate and his soul-irritant in the same package deal.

A warm, slender hand settled on Roger’s shoulder. He looked up to see Rouge standing there, radiant as ever as she returned from the bathroom. She smoothed the fabric of his jacket, her eyes dancing with amusement as she looked at the carnage on the table.

“Are you two boys having fun?” she asked sweetly. She slipped into the booth next to Roger, leaning into him with a smile. “I could hear Garp’s laughter from the hallway. I assume Roger has said something remarkably stupid to set you off, Garp?”

“He did indeed,” Garp chortled, leaning over the table with a wicked glint in his eye. “The man was sitting there with a face like a twisted lemon, Rouge. I have not seen someone look that pained since I tried to explain the concept of a ‘budget’ to him. He was probably trying to calculate how many engines he can buy before you find out.”

“No, for your information, we were discussing our superior parenting. Unlike some retired sailors, Rouge and I raise our son with emotional intelligence. Garp thinks ‘tough love’ is the answer to everything, but Dragon is fifty-three and lives in a different time zone, while Ace is only eight and actually enjoys our company.”

Garp snorted. “Nonsense! You can’t compare the two. Dragon grew up in a different era; you raised your children with a fist of love back then to make them sturdy. Besides, Dragon is over fifty—he has a world to run! Ace is a child. Of course he still wants to hold your hand. Wait until he’s fifty, then tell me how many hugs you’re getting!”

Roger smirked. “So, you admit it then? I’ve done a far better job of raising a son than you ever did.”

“I’ll smack your head into the soup if you keep that up!” Garp barked. “I admitted no such thing. If Ace is a genius, it’s because he raised himself. There’s no way he inherited those brains from a man who still struggles to read a flight manual without moving his lips.”

Rouge took a slow sip of her wine, peering at them both over the rim of the glass. “And what am I? Chopped liver?” she asked. “I’m Ace’s mother. I believe I had a small, insignificant role in his upbringing and his genetics.”

“Bah! You’re just as bad as him,” Garp scoffed, waving a hand. “Both of you are so thick-headed it’s a wonder the boy can—!” He stopped mid-sentence, his face contorting into a mask of pure agony. A choked, high-pitched wheeze escaped his throat as he turned a vibrant shade of purple.

Roger smirked, glancing down beneath the table. He did not need to look to know that Rouge’s stiletto heel was currently buried deep in the top of Garp’s foot. He turned to his wife, his expression melting. He did not say a word, but his eyes screamed how much he loved her terrifying efficiency.

Rouge’s heel remained firmly planted. “Now, Garp,” she said smoothly. “Do try to be a gentleman. You’re sitting with a lady, and while I may look delicate, I didn’t spend six years earning a fourth-dan black belt in Aikido just to have my parenting insulted over appetizers.”

Garp let out a strangled wheeze. “Damn it... Rouge,” he managed to choke out, his eyes watering. “That actually hurts! You’re a menace, the both of you.”

Rouge finally retracted her foot, smoothing her skirt with a graceful pat. “Anyway,” she sighed, her gaze softening. “As much as Ace is a genius, he’s still just a boy. I worry about him sometimes; he takes his education so seriously, as if the weight of the world is on his nine-year-old shoulders.”

Roger immediately wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “It’s just his nature, darling,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “He got that drive from you, but it’s alright. We’re the best parents for him. We’ll look after him and make sure he doesn’t forget to be a child.” He looked into her eyes. The rest of the restaurant faded away.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Garp groaned. “I’m disgusted by the pair of you. Get a room.”

Rouge’s head snapped toward him, her eyes flashing. “The fuck did you just say, Garp?”

Roger felt a cold sweat break out on his neck. An angry Rouge was a terrifying Rouge, and her vocabulary was famously more diverse than his—Ace’s colourful language had clearly come from his mother’s side. But because Roger valued his life, he kept his mouth shut.

Garp, however, didn’t look scared. He let out a sign. “Look, you are good parents, alright? I admit it. I love the kid; Ace is smart and he has spirit. But I didn’t ask to see you today to argue about that.”

“Huh?” Roger and Rouge exchanged a bewildered glance before turning back to the old sailor.

“It’s about Dragon,” Garp said.

Roger reached down, his fingers finding Rouge’s hand beneath the table and squeezing tightly. The sudden shift in Garp’s tone was enough to make the hair on his arms stand up. “What about him?” Roger asked quietly. “What has Dragon done now?”

Rouge leaned forward, her anger at Garp’s earlier comment completely evaporated. “Is he alright? He isn’t in any danger, is he? No trouble with the local authorities on his travels?”

“No, no,” Garp grumbled, gesturing vaguely at Roger with a piece of bread. “Like I told this idiot, Dragon is doing fine. His work with the environmental agencies is going well, he’s travelling, he’s healthy... but...” Garp trailed off, his gaze dropping to his half-empty glass. He looked hesitant—vulnerable, even.

Roger and Rouge exchanged a look of pure dread. They had only seen Garp look this haunted a handful of times: once when his favourite brand of rice crackers had been discontinued, and another time when he accidentally put salt in his tea instead of sugar. For Garp to look like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning—or like he had been unable to use the facilities for a week—meant something monumental was coming.

“Dragon thinks...” Garp started, then cleared his throat. He looked up. “He suspects he has a son. A kid he did not even know existed out there.”

The silence that followed was as if the universe had suddenly run out of oxygen. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded a supernova—heavy, absolute and thick enough to choke a horse.

“Where did he get that idea? Dragon is not exactly the type to jump to conclusions,” Rouge asked. “He’s a scientist, a man of facts. How can he just ‘think’ he has a son? Surely there’s more to it than just a sudden feeling.”

Roger found himself unable to speak. He watched Rouge take the lead, his own voice trapped in his throat as a cold, prickling sensation spread from the nape of his neck down to his spine. It was more than just shock. Maybe a profound sense of déjà vu? As if he were reading a flight manual for a plane he had already crashed in another life. Something was wrong.

Something was missing, and it was sitting right under his nose back at the house.

“Don’t ask me,” Garp said, rubbing his temples as if trying to soothe a monumental migraine. “He just sent a message. No context, no warning. Just: ‘I think I have a son.’ Then he vanished again. Honestly, the timing is appalling. He drops this on me while I’m trying to enjoy my retirement? It’s just like him—always out of the blue, always making me do the legwork.”

“But Garp, think,” Rouge insisted. “How can it be out of the blue? Dragon is careful. If he thinks he has a son, he must have some shred of evidence. What did he actually say?”

Garp bristled at the implication that he was being dense. “I’m his father, Rouge! I know how the boy thinks! He did finally answer the phone this morning, for about thirty seconds. He told me he met a friend of an old flame. She asked him if he had the boy, because the mother died five years ago. He didn’t give me a name, he didn’t give me a location—he just hung up! He’s probably halfway across the Atlantic by now!”

Roger remained a silent observer.

Five years ago. A mother passing away. A boy left behind.

“So let me get this straight,” Rouge said. “Dragon’s ex-girlfriend had a son, she died five years ago and now the child is... lost? He could be anywhere? In the system, with a different family, or alone?”

“That’s what I am afraid of,” Garp admitted. “I’ve been pulling every favour I have in the Navy and the civil service to track the girl’s records. She died in childbirth five years back. No record of the father on the birth certificate. The boy could be anywhere. But if her friend was asking Dragon about custody, the child must be alive.”

Roger felt his heart hammer against his ribs.

Monkey D. Garp. Monkey D. Dragon.

And the boy who claimed Ace and he were brothers, the one who smelled like salt and adventure. Monkey D. Luffy. Roger bolted upright. “Oh, mercy of the Bodhisattvas...” he said, his eyes darting between Garp and Rouge. “The Monkey D. lineage... the name... Garp, the boy isn’t lost! I think he’s currently having lunch with Ace!”

Chapter Text

Having a younger brother is the best feeling in the world.

Ace had never expected to feel that way. For nine years, he’d been an only child—well, not entirely, because Shanks had always been around like an annoying but well-meaning older cousin or sometimes a big brother figure who showed up unannounced and ate all the good snacks. But a younger brother? Someone his own age? Someone who looked at him like he’d hung the moon just for existing? That was new.

And Ace loved it. He loved teaching Luffy things. How to tie his shoelaces. How to climb a tree without falling out of it. How to make the perfect instant ramen by adding a soft-boiled egg and a slice of processed cheese on top. Luffy absorbed everything like a sponge, his dark eyes wide with wonder, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in half.

But there was a catch.

Because for every adorable teaching moment, there were approximately seventeen moments where Ace had to physically restrain Luffy from doing something that would get them both killed, arrested or permanently banned from a public establishment.

Take the foam fire extinguisher incident.

It had started innocently enough. Buggy had taken them to the community centre’s summer fair—God knows why, because Buggy hated children in general (or at least that is what he told anyone who would listen) and outdoor events in particular, but Shanks had given him that look and Buggy had caved within seconds. So there they were, surrounded by bouncy castles and candy floss stalls, when Luffy spotted the bright red canister mounted on the wall near the toilets.

‘What’s that?’ Luffy had asked, already reaching for it before Ace could answer.

‘Fire extinguisher,’ Ace said. ‘Don’t—’

But Luffy had already pulled the pin.

Ace’s memory of the next thirty seconds was hazy.

There was a loud whoosh. There was a lot of white foam. There was a shrieking sound that might have been Buggy or might have been the elderly woman running the tombola—Ace couldn’t tell, because he was too busy tackling Luffy to the ground and shielding him with his own body while the foam coated everything in a three-metre radius. When the chaos settled, Buggy was standing there with foam dripping from his blue hair, his mascara running down his face and an expression that promised murder.

‘He’s four,’ Ace said quickly, still pinning Luffy down. ‘He didn’t know.’

‘I’m going to kill him,’ Buggy said flatly.

‘You can’t kill him,’ Ace said. ‘He’s my brother.’

‘I’m his legal guardian,’ Buggy stated, wiping a glob of foam from his eyelid. ‘That gives me the exclusive privilege of deciding when his life is forfeit. Besides, I have tried to kill him more times than you have had hot dinners, boy. One more attempt today will not change our dynamic in the slightest.’

‘It means you have a duty of care, not a license to commit murder,’ Ace corrected, finally letting Luffy up. The four-year-old was covered in foam from head to toe, giggling like this was the best day of his life. ‘See? He is fine. No harm done.’

‘My duty of care ended the moment he aimed that nozzle at my face! The community centre is going to fine me for the damages, and I am telling the social worker that he started it!’

‘Shanks will pay for it.’

‘Oh, so that is your solution? Just put it on the “Shanks Tab”? I have some dignity left, thank you very much! I do not want his pity or his wallet!’

Ace shrugged. ‘It isn’t pity if Shanks is practically Luffy’s other parent. You two are a package deal, remember? Take it up with him. I’m taking Luffy to get a hot dog.’

And he did. He marched Luffy over to the hot dog stand—the one that was mercifully far enough from the foam zone to still be operational—and bought two hot dogs with the crumpled fiver he’d found in Buggy’s coat pocket earlier. Luffy ate his in three bites. Ace ate his in two, because he was nine and starving and also because Luffy was already eyeing Ace’s leftover bun.

This was Ace’s life now. Running interference. Damage control. Being the responsible one despite being only nine years old. But when Luffy leaned against his shoulder, full and happy and smelling faintly of artificial cheese smoke and fire extinguisher foam, Ace decided it was worth it.

The sun began to dip behind the sprawling limestone walls of the Gol manor. It cast long, dramatic shadows across a garden that felt far too manicured for the chaos currently unfolding within it. Ace sat on the edge of a stone fountain, watching Sabo and Luffy tackle each other into the grass.

Ace found himself hypothesising about the glimpses he saw in his sleep.

Luffy had been the one to put words to it.

According to the four-year-old, they had lived entire lives before this one. Luffy claimed that in that other world, Ace had been a legendary pirate, a commander of fire who sailed under a great white flag. He said Sabo had been a noble who ran away to find freedom, only to become a hero for the downtrodden. Most importantly, Luffy insisted he himself had been the Pirate King, the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates.

It sounded like a grand, impossible fiction, but when Ace looked at the two of them, the idea of being brothers in a past life felt more real than the stone walls of his own home.

If the past-life hypothesis were true, they had found each other again against all odds, which was funny considering the “Monkey D.” surname. Ace would bet his entire future inheritance that the kid was somehow related to his father’s eccentric friend, Monkey D. Garp, yet the paperwork said otherwise.

Luffy had been found as an infant in a dumpster by Buggy, making the blue-haired clown his legal father. Since Buggy was dating Shanks—who was essentially an older brother or cousin to Ace—it meant Luffy was technically the child of Ace’s own mentor figures. The maths of it all did not make Ace the son of Buggy and Shanks, nor did it make Luffy the child of Roger and Rouge.

“Luffy! Come here a second!” Ace called out across the manicured lawn.

Luffy perked up immediately, abandoning his game of tag to sprint toward the patio. Ace smirked as Sabo threw him a glare, clearly annoyed that their play session had been interrupted so easily. As Luffy skidded to a halt, Ace reached out and pulled the small, foam-scented boy into a firm hold.

“What is it, Ace?” Luffy asked, tilting his head.

“The sun is getting too strong,” Ace replied. “We need to go back inside before you turn into a lobster, or at least put on more sunscreen and find you a hat.”

Luffy beamed, nodding with a toothy grin. “I had a great hat before! Shanks let me borrow his straw hat in the other life, you know? I don’t have one here yet because we haven’t found one that fits right, but Buggy promised he would find me the best hat in the world soon!”

Sabo strolled over from the grass, dusting off his trousers and plucking his own flat cap from his head. He held it out toward Luffy. “You can borrow mine for now, Lu. It isn’t a straw hat, but it’ll keep the sun off your face until Buggy delivers on his promise.”

Ace looked at the hat and then at Sabo, let out a soft snort, and shook his head. “You want him to wear that? He’ll look like a chimney sweep from the nineteenth century, Sabo. I don’t think the ‘Victorian orphan’ look is what he is going for.”

Sabo pulled the hat back and clutched it to his chest, looking offended. “It’s a classic style, I’ll have you know! Besides, it’s practical. We’re in Thailand, Ace; the sun here is as hot as hell itself. Most people need protection, though I suppose you might be immune because your skin is so thick that nothing can get through it.”

Ace did not even flicker an eyelash at the jab. He was far too mature to be rattled by Sabo’s teasing today. Luffy let out his signature “shishishi” laugh, shaking his head at the offered cap. “No thanks, Sabo! It’s a nice hat, but I’m going to find my own. It has to be the right one!”

Ace looked toward the horizon. “Well, you might not have to wait for Buggy to finish his shopping trip.”

Sabo narrowed his eyes, leaning in to inspect Ace’s expression. “What is that tone for? And why are you making that smug, ugly face? You definitely know something.”

Ace ignored Sabo entirely and looked down at Luffy, a small smile playing on his lips. “I actually have a present for you, Lu.” He offered his hand, and Luffy took it immediately, jumping up and down with excitement as they headed toward the manor.

Luffy walked and bounced, his small hand swinging in Ace’s. “Is it meat, Ace? Is it the fried meat from that shop? Or the boiled pork? Or a whole roasted bird?” He began to chant a list of food items that sounded more like a grocery store inventory than a single present.

Sabo rushed to catch up, falling into step on Ace’s other side. He looked at the way Ace was looking down at Luffy and let out a long, deadpan sigh. “You really are a Portgas-Gol through and through. You have no restraint when it comes to throwing money at a problem—or a person. You are spoiling him rotten, Ace.” He crossed his arms as they walked. “I bet it is something ridiculous. A fleet of helicopters? A diamond-encrusted playground? You have more inheritance than you have brain cells at this point. It is a crime against common sense.”

Ace rolled his eyes, keeping a firm grip on Luffy’s hand while using his free shoulder to give Sabo a playful nudge. “Don’t be jealous, Sabo. You know I love you exactly the same. I’ll buy you a private island next week if it makes you feel better.”

Sabo’s face turned a sudden, bright shade of pink. He stumbled over his own feet. “That—that is disgusting! Stop saying such gross, sentimental things! You’re insufferable!”

Ace let out a loud laugh, and Luffy joined in with his high-pitched “shishishi,” throwing his head back. “I love Ace! And I love Sabo! I am the happiest!” Luffy declared, swinging their joined hands.

As they pushed through the doors and arrived in the kitchen, Sabo let out a defeated sigh. He looked at Ace with a look of dawning realisation. “Why do I even bother worrying about your bank account? It’s food, is it not? You bought him something edible because that’s the only thing that would make him this jumpy.”

Luffy stopped his bouncing and pulled a face at Sabo, looking genuinely offended. “That is mean, Sabo! I do not think about food all the time! Sometimes I think about... other things!”

Sabo crossed his arms. “Oh, really? Please, enlighten us. What else could possibly be occupying that head of yours if it is not a chicken leg or a bowl of noodles?”

Luffy actually went quiet. He stood perfectly still, his brow furrowed in such deep concentration that his face began to turn a worrying shade of beet-red. It looked as though his brain was working overtime, puffing out invisible steam from the sheer effort of deep thought. While they were distracted, Ace slipped away toward the pantry, returning a moment later with a big white box tied with a vibrant red ribbon.

Sabo’s face went horizontal with horror. “Luffy, stop! Don’t think anymore! Your head is going to explode!” He moved to shake Luffy out of his trance, but Ace stepped in his way, holding the box aloft.

“Leave him be, Sabo. He can manage it.” True to Ace’s word, the redness vanished instantly, and Luffy snapped back to reality with a beam so radiant it felt like a physical force. Sabo and Ace both had to shield their eyes with their hands, squinting against the sheer brilliance of the four-year-old’s joy.

“My eyes,” Sabo muttered. “I think he just burned my retinas. Does he have a literal sun inside his chest?”

“Probably,” Ace agreed, blinking back tears from the brightness.

Luffy cheered, unaware of the damage he was doing to their vision. “I know the answer now! If it isn’t food, then it’s Ace and Sabo! And Buggy and Shanks! It’s my family and all my nakama!”

Ace and Sabo watched in silence for a moment as Luffy transformed into a blur of motion. He was currently chasing his own shadow across the kitchen floor, pausing only to give a high-five to a passing chef. Ace nudged Sabo with his elbow, noticing that the other boy looked somewhat dazed.

“Is your brain still functional, or did Luffy fry it?”

Sabo shook himself out of his stupor. “I’m… fine. It’s just... seeing him say those things. It makes me feel... ugh, I can’t even say it. It’s strange. Too sentimental. It’s far too much.”

“You should stop fighting it,” Ace said, his tone surprisingly grounded. “I know it feels strange to be that open, but to be strange is just to be unusual. Being unusual simply means you are living outside the frame of subjective norms. It’s actually quite a liberating way to live.”

Sabo stared at him. “Where did that come from? You’re saying such strange, pretentious things today, Ace. Is this what happens when you spend too much time in your own head?”

“Maybe you are just suffering from internet-induced cynicism,” Ace replied, unbothered. “You spend far too much time scrolling through your feeds.”

“I do no such thing!” Sabo huffed. “I have no brain rot in my system, I assure you. And I wish you would stop acting like the wise professor. Everyone thinks I’m the studious one, but they don’t see you dragging me to the library every single day. I’ve studied so much that I feel like a volcano about to erupt! I’m a victim of your academic tyranny!”

Ace began to grin, ready to explain that knowledge is the ultimate power, but Luffy suddenly appeared between them, jumping up and down. “The present! Ace, Ace! I want to see the present!” So Ace leaned down and passed the large white box to Luffy.

Sabo let out a soft, affectionate sound as he watched the scene, mostly because the box was so enormous that it was almost the same size as the four-year-old holding it. Luffy wasted no time, dropping onto the kitchen floor and beginning to tear at the wrapping with frantic, happy movements.

Sabo leaned in close to Ace. “Is it a giant ham? Or maybe a tiered cake?”

Ace rolled his eyes and draped an arm over Sabo’s shoulder, pulling him slightly closer. “I told you already, it isn’t food, Sabo. Have a little more imagination.”

“If it isn’t food, then what on earth could be in a box that big—”

A sharp, sudden gasp escaped Luffy’s lips, a sound so full of wonder that it seemed to pull the air right out of the room. Time appeared to stop. Ace felt his hand drop from Sabo’s shoulder as silence descended upon the kitchen. He did not turn to look at Sabo, but he did not need to because he knew they were wearing the exact same expression. Luffy slowly rose to his feet, his back to them, holding the gift in his small hands.

The world felt quiet, suspended in a vacuum of memory.

Then, with a slow and deliberate grace, Luffy raised his arms and put the gift on his head.

It was a straw hat, perfectly woven, with a bright red ribbon tied around the crown.

No one had made a big deal of the moment. At least, that was the story Ace was sticking to.

Sabo had simply punched Ace in the shoulder—hard enough to leave a bruise—and praised him for finally doing something right for once in his life. Luffy had merely stated that he liked it before nearly squeezing the breath out of Ace with a hug. For his part, Ace had only told the boy that the hat suited him and that it was about time he started protecting his precious skin from the threat of skin cancer.

That had been the end of it, and now, they were settled in the second kitchen of the manor, the one usually reserved for informal family meals. Luffy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, chanting “Food! Food! Food!” in a rhythmic, hungry trance while Ace and Sabo sat at the island counter, nursing tall glasses of pandan ice tea.

The peaceful clinking of ice was suddenly shattered as Buggy leaned out from behind the stove, a wooden spoon dripping with sauce in his hand. “Luffy! For the love of everything flashy, shut your mouth and be patient! The meat doesn’t cook faster just because you’re narrating the process!”

“It does cook faster! My tummy is the boss and it says the meat is ready!” Luffy argued, pouting at his guardian. “Why are you being so stupid, Buggy? You just have to make the fire bigger!”

Ace let out a long, weary sigh as he watched the two of them.

Here they went again. Honestly, he had no idea how Buggy had survived this long raising a child like Luffy. If it were anyone else, they probably would have gathered some ash to stuff in the brat’s mouth or left him in the middle of a busy road years ago. It was a miracle of patience that Buggy had not reached his breaking point yet.

Buggy pointed the sauce-covered spoon directly at Luffy’s nose. “Don’t you dare call me stupid, you ungrateful little brat! I’m back here slaving away over a hot stove making you braised pork and garlic rice from scratch! You should be on your knees thanking me for this flashy meal, not complaining about the speed of the hob!”

Luffy’s eyes immediately turned into stars. “Braised pork? Okay! I will be good! I will wait!” He beamed, his anger vanishing as quickly as it had arrived.

Ace sighed again and turned to look at Sabo, who was watching the exchange with an amused smile. “Luffy is remarkably simple-minded,” Sabo remarked, shaking his head. “It’s actually quite funny. He’s so easy to please as long as his stomach is involved.”

The back door suddenly swung open and Shanks appeared, laden with several colourful shopping bags. “I’m home! And I’ve brought reinforcements!” He announced, dodging a flying glob of sauce from Buggy’s direction. He marched over to the low table where Luffy had been busy drawing and dropped the bags right in front of him.

“Snacks! Snacks! Snacks!” Luffy cheered, reaching for the nearest bag with greedy fingers.

“Hold your horses, anchor!” Shanks laughed, gently swatting Luffy’s hands away. “You have to wait until I have put everything out on the plates properly. No one is eating out of a plastic bag in this house today!”

“But I’m starving! The bags are right there!” Luffy whined, his lower lip trembling as if he were facing a great personal tragedy. He slumped against the low table, watching the plastic rustle with a look of pure longing.

Ace did not wait for the tantrum to escalate. He stood up from his stool, moving toward the cupboard to fetch the serving plates. He did it partly out of pity for Shanks, but mostly for his own mental health because if Luffy finally had something in his mouth, the house might actually descend into a manageable level of quiet.

Shanks was technically a colleague of Ace’s father, serving as the first officer under the Golden Age aviation banner, but he had always felt more like a meddlesome older brother. Their families, the Gols and the Figarlands, occupied that rarefied air of the top one percent, meaning Ace had spent his childhood dodging Shanks at endless charity galas and stiff, formal events.

He was well aware of Shanks’s reputation as the country’s most eligible bachelor. Duh. The man’s charisma was legendary, and people never stopped trying to pursue him. Learning that he had finally settled down had been a surprise, but seeing him with Buggy had settled the matter instantly. They were a perfect, sickening match. They were red and blue, a clashing pair that somehow worked.

Ace sat on the rug, keeping a watchful eye on Luffy to ensure the four-year-old did not choke in his excitement. Sabo slid down beside him, picking up a fried banana and nodding his approval. It was a rare moment of peace, but it was shattered the moment Ace looked up to see what the adults were doing.

Shanks had cornered Buggy by the prep station, presenting the final ingredient.

“I found the exact brand you wanted,” Shanks said.

Buggy grabbed the bottle without looking up, grunting as he twisted the cap. Shanks did not seem to mind the cold shoulder. He stepped into Buggy’s personal space, his hands finding the curve of Buggy’s waist. He leaned down, his fingers tapping a playful beat against the fabric of Buggy’s shirt.

Shanks ducked his head low. “Am I a good boy? Is there a reward in it for me?”

Buggy rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “You are a golden retriever in a human suit, and it is nauseating. Your reward is that I am not going to poison your portion of the ribs.”

Despite the sharp words, Buggy did not move an inch to escape the hold. Shanks only grinned wider, his thumbs tracing the line of Buggy’s hips. Ace felt a familiar wave of secondhand embarrassment wash over him. He was trapped between the high-society romance of his parents and the chaotic, colourful devotion of these two. It was going to be a very long afternoon.

Ace turned his attention back to the floor, but the sight of Shanks practically purring against Buggy’s shoulder remained burned into his mind. Usually, Ace did not mind being babysat by those two, but today felt particularly exhausting. His parents had escaped for the day to meet an old friend, a man named Garp, whom Ace was forced to acknowledge as his grandfather.

Not that he did so willingly. The man was a terrifying, loud-mouthed hurricane of a human being who insisted on being called “Grandpa” at the top of his lungs. Ace had eventually compromised on “Gramps,” and it was the maximum amount of respect he was prepared to offer.

Being left with the “Red and Blue” duo was the lesser of two evils, but it came with its own set of traumatic hazards. Ace had lost count of how many times he had accidentally walked in on their moments. There was the time he had opened the pantry looking for biscuits only to find Buggy pinned against the shelving while Shanks was busy making a meal out of his neck. Then there was the afternoon he had gone into the lounge to find them tangled so tightly on the sofa that he could not tell where the red hair ended and the blue hair began.

He had to thank the Buddha that they at least attempted to find a quiet corner or a discreet room. However, it was simply Ace’s spectacularly bad timing and tendency to be in the wrong place that led him to such horrors. They were sickeningly cute, but Ace was a nine-year-old boy who just wanted to exist without seeing his big brother figure’s tongue in someone else’s mouth.

The tension in the kitchen finally broke when Buggy pulled away from Shanks placed a huge, steaming bowl of honey-glazed ribs on the low table. He looked genuinely pleased with himself now. “Eat up, you vultures,” Buggy said. “I’ll go and get the rice ready for the rest of you. Sabo, don’t let Luffy eat the bone.”

Luffy let out a cheer, but his joy was cut short by a sound that made the very foundations of the manor tremble. A booming, gravelly voice erupted from the front hallway, echoing through the corridors with the force of a sonic boom. “Where is my grandson?! Come out here right now, you brat!”

Ace froze, his blood turning to ice. A cold sweat broke out across his neck.

What the hell is that crazy old man doing here? And what did I do this time? He waited for the inevitable lecture about why he had not called lately, but then Ace paused. He realised something. That was not the tone the old man used when he was looking for Ace. Ace’s mind began to race.

Holy shit. The connection was so obvious that Ace felt like an idiot for missing it.

Monkey D. Garp. Monkey D. Dragon. Monkey D. Luffy.

Luffy was the grandson of the craziest man in the country!