The warm air of Makino's bar, thick with the scent of ale and shared grief, felt heavy for a moment. Sabo's story, a raw wound exposed, hung between the three of us – a shared understanding forged in the twin fires of loss and injustice. Luffy's sobs gradually subsided, leaving him clinging to me, his breathing evening out into shaky gulps. Ace's fury remained a simmering fire in his dark eyes, directed outward now, towards the invisible architects of their pain. My own anger, momentarily overshadowed by Luffy's tears and the shared tragedy, solidified into cold resolve. We understood each other now, in a way words alone couldn't convey.
Eventually, Luffy pulled away from the hug, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His face was red and blotchy, but the sadness in his eyes was mixed with a familiar spark of determination. "Okay!" he declared, his voice a little hoarse. "Let's make it the biggest flower ever! For Sabo!"
Makino, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears, nodded gently. "Of course, Luffy. The flowers are right outside. Let me get some ribbon."
We stepped out of the cozy warmth of the bar and back into the bright, bustling life of Foosha Village. The sun was high now, casting cheerful light on the cobblestone streets and the colourful buildings. Fishermen were busy on the docks, mending nets and unloading their morning catch. Children chased each other, their laughter echoing in the peaceful air. It felt jarring, almost wrong, to carry the weight of such darkness – Buster Calls, Celestial Dragons, murdered brothers, and terrifying bounties – in a place so bathed in light and normalcy.
Makino directed us to a small garden patch beside the bar, overflowing with vibrant, wild-looking flowers – blues, yellows, fiery reds. She provided us with sturdy green wire and bright ribbons. The task was simple: weave the flowers onto the wire frames to create a large, symbolic bloom.
Ace, with surprising focus and dexterity for someone so outwardly rough, began stripping leaves and twisting wire, his movements efficient and precise. Luffy, meanwhile, enthusiastically grabbed handfuls of flowers, often crushing them in his eagerness, and tried to weave them using his stretchy fingers, sometimes accidentally wrapping them around himself or Ace. Boing! "Ow! Luffy!" He talked non-stop about Sabo as he worked, recounting memories, funny stories, things they'd planned. His grief wasn't quiet; it was woven into the fabric of his bustling, living memory of his brother.
I worked alongside them, the simple, repetitive motion of weaving flowers onto the wire oddly calming. The scent of the blossoms was sweet, a welcome change from the damp earth and smoke of the mountain. As I worked, my hands stained with pollen, I felt Ace's gaze on me occasionally, no longer just curious or teasing, but something deeper, a quiet acknowledgment of shared burdens.
Amidst the task, I caught my reflection in the clean glass window of the bar. I hadn't seen myself in a mirror in months, perhaps even years, not really. The girl looking back was certainly not the seven-year-old in the red yukata from Hi-no-Kuni. My face was leaner, sharper, marked by the sun and wind and hardship. My hair, a vibrant, almost unnatural crimson, was wild, untamed, falling just past my shoulders, a fiery contrast to the gentle blues and yellows of the flowers I held. My eyes, often described as large and bright, held a depth that belied my years, a wary intelligence honed by constant vigilance. The light within them, the subtle gold or amber spark that hinted at the Tenshi fruit, seemed more pronounced in the sunlight, giving them an almost unsettling intensity. My frame was still small, undeniably that of a child, but it was wiry, muscled from Garp's brutal training, moving with a restless energy even when still. The simple, stained clothes I wore, the sword hilt peeking from beneath my cloak, completed the picture – a girl who looked too young, too sharp, too other for this peaceful village setting.
It was just as I was twisting a thorny vine into place, my focus on the task, that the cheerful sounds of the harbour suddenly shifted. Laughter grew louder, coarser. Voices became boisterous, punctuated by the heavy thud of something large hitting the dock.
A pirate ship. Not a huge, imposing vessel like the ones Garp sailed, but a solid, ugly-looking ship with a Jolly Roger flag depicting a skull with a cracked jaw. It had just docked at the main pier. A group of men, rough-looking and armed, spilled onto the docks, their movements loud and unrefined. They looked like typical East Blue fodder – pirates motivated by petty crime, low bounties, and base desires.
Leading them was a stout man with a greasy beard and a cocky swagger, presumably the captain. He scanned the village with a predatory gleam in his eyes, looking for trouble, for loot, for easy targets. His gaze swept over the bar, over the small garden patch, over us.
And then, his eyes landed on me.
He stopped dead. His cocky grin faltered, replaced by pure, stunned disbelief. He squinted, then pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, staring at it, then back at me. His eyes widened, his jaw dropping beneath his greasy beard.
Recognition. Cold, terrifying, undeniable recognition.
"No... it can't be..." he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely audible. Then his eyes darted to the sword hilt at my back. His face twisted from disbelief to stunned avarice. His eyes bulged with naked greed.
He folded the wanted poster, jamming it into his pocket, and threw back his head, a booming, guttural laugh erupting from his chest, cutting through the peaceful sounds of the village. It wasn't a sound of joy, but of monstrous, delighted realization.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHA! I wasn't mistaken!" he roared, his voice carrying across the square, silencing the fishermen and turning the heads of every villager within earshot. His crew gathered around him, looking confused. "Men! Look at this! Look what fortune has blessed us with on this miserable little island!"
He pointed a thick, trembling finger directly at me, my crimson hair stark against the green leaves and colourful flowers of the garden patch. His eyes, filled with madness and greed, seemed to devour me.
"It's the Divine Calamity!" he bellowed, the terrifying nickname echoing in the sudden, hushed silence of the village. "Eight-y million beri on her head! Eighty million! For a brat!"
His crew stared at me, their eyes following their captain's pointing finger. Confusion warred with avarice on their faces. A child? Eighty million? Some of them scoffed, underestimating the tiny figure standing amidst the flower petals.
"She's only a child, Captain!" one of them scoffed, spitting on the ground. "What can she do?!"
The captain just grinned wider, a cruel, predatory smile that promised pain and profit. "A child carrying eighty million berries and a name like that is no ordinary child, fool!" He looked at me again, that assessing, greedy gaze making my skin crawl. "Besides," he leered, "alive or dead, the bounty's the same! And eighty million is enough to make us rich for life!" He drew his cutlass, its blade glinting in the sun. "GET HER! DON'T LET HER ESCAPE! EIGHTY MILLION IS OURS!"
His crew, their confusion replaced by the blinding prospect of unimaginable wealth, drew their weapons with a ragged chorus of cheers and whoops. They surged forward from the docks, a wave of armed, grinning thugs descending upon the peaceful village square, their target: the girl with the fiery hair and the terrifying name.
The villagers scattered, screaming, running for cover. Makino cried out my name, her face pale with horror, reaching for me instinctively from the bar doorway.
But I didn't run. Ace and Luffy didn't run either.
A wide, exhilarated grin, startlingly similar to the captain's but utterly different in its intent, split Luffy's face. His rubbery limbs seemed to vibrate with excitement. He looked from the charging pirates to Ace, his eyes sparkling.
"Oh, pirates!" Luffy exclaimed, clapping his hands together. His grief over Sabo was still there, a quiet undertow, but the immediate prospect of a fight, of protecting Makino and the village, had ignited his adventurous spirit. "This is gonna be FUN!"
Ace's earlier anger, the simmering fury at the system, now had a tangible target. He cracked his knuckles, a predatory smirk curving his lips, a mirror of the captain's, but colder, more dangerous. He eyed the incoming horde, his mind already calculating angles, openings, strategies. The shared moment of grief and understanding with me seemed to have intensified their already formidable bond.
"Makino-neechan!" Luffy yelled back towards the bar, his voice bright and cheerful despite the charging thugs. "Go inside for a bit! This might get messy!"
Makino, still standing in the doorway, nodded numbly, her face a mask of fear for us, but she obeyed, retreating back into the bar, pulling the door mostly shut.
Ace turned to Luffy, his smirk widening into a challenge. "Hey, Luffy," he said, his voice low and eager, the thrill of the impending fight palpable. "Wanna have a bet?"
Luffy's eyes lit up. "A bet? What kind of bet, Ace?"
"The one who takes down the most of these guys," Ace grinned, tightening his grip on his metal pipe, "gets... the biggest piece of Makino's pie tonight!"
"YOU'RE ON!" Luffy roared, already stretching his arms back, ready to launch into the fray. "SHISHISHISHI! Seems like they want Akane's head, huh?!" He turned his bright, excited gaze on me, completely unbothered by the idea of fighting a horde of bounty hunters coming for my life.
"Hey, Akane!" Luffy called out, his voice full of unrestrained eagerness, already launching himself forward slightly, stretching his rubber neck out like a curious turtle. The pirate horde was closing in, swords drawn, faces contorted with greed.
"Let's go fight 'em!"