Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kuzan doesn’t even know how he managed to drag himself here. But he did it though, his ankle was broken, his foot dragging like a heavy weight in his walk, his color turning purple made him want to vomit. How it had doubled in volume didn’t announce anything good. His head was still buzzing, he surely had a cranial trauma, the taste of blood filled his mouth nauseatingly until its nostrils. His body was covered with an unparalleled heaviness, he wasn’t even sure how he had been able to cover so much, aches and bleeding, blurred vision were all he could concentrate on to avoid dying miserably. But he was safe here, in the halls of Marine Ford. He was home again, after all this way, crossing waters and land. He shivered remembering his makeshift clothes, they had been torn like a street child. Only his cape still covered certain parts of his body, not leaving him without anything. He held his hand around her neck, grimacing as he felt her blood flow, he clenched his teeth as he remembered how this wound could have been fatal to him. He swung against one of the walls, no longer being able to support his own weight properly. His jerky breathing, almost choking on his own saliva, the bile running up his throat, vomiting a cloying mixture between blood and a yellowish-green gastric fluid. He slipped along the support he had on the wall behind him, his face hit the cold ground, not helping him to relieve the already existing bruises at a new shock. He focused on doing everything except passing out here, hoping anyone would walk through this empty hallway.

His ears were ringing, he felt too bad to sit up, he couldn’t even hope to get up. He was far from relaxed, quite the opposite to be honest. Even if he knew he was safe, he couldn’t relax his tense limbs for a second without being sure he wouldn’t die here alone in this corridor. He could fall asleep and enjoy this childish, unpressured life that he once had. But it’s not really what he had wished for, to be honest, he doesn’t want to die like that at all, he is not a dog, he is human, any human would be afraid of death and regrets. Even if life hasn’t necessarily had good sides. His sight is blurring, not just because he’s sinking to the unconscious, no, he had tears running down his cheeks, almost burning him, going from hot to cold, it’s pleasant but painful at the same time, a relief and a misfortune because he would have done nothing but hurt himself more. He slowly blinked at a point in the hallway, beginning to distinguish an increasingly large shadow on the tiles, dressed shoes slamming the floor. Kuzan did not know if it was an auditory and visual allusion, due to the many shocks he had received or not. But he could tell it all looked very real. A large figure, a smell of smoke and cigarette fills his nostrils, swept by the scent of his own blood. His mind is completely light, safe, for some reason he doesn’t know. He felt good, despite this atrocious pain that was running through his entire body.

He didn’t know why, but he knew that if he closed his eyes, it might well be the last time. Yet, he had this conviction ever since those dreadful days that something good would happen to him. So, he let go, finally allowing his heavy eyelids to fall shut. His breathing calmed as best it could, his mind soothing, growing still. Not thinking brought more relief than he would have imagined. He didn’t reply to that raspy, dry voice, but he knew that person would help him anyway. He trusted him completely a silent, unwavering agreement. Because the stranger’s arms were strong, his chest solid and radiating warmth, it only did him good. He could confide in him. He would save him. He felt himself being lifted the man was tall. Kuzan felt small in his arms, but not in a suffocating or frightening way. No, it felt like being protected, even if the humiliation clawed at his throat. He couldn’t afford to feel ashamed there was no time for that. He was being saved from death.His body swayed with the stranger’s steps. The man was careful with him, not holding him too tightly, not folding him awkwardly just to fit through narrow spaces.Even with his eyes closed and his consciousness flickering between awareness and unconsciousness, Kuzan could tell the man carrying him was gentle, mindful of the path to headquarters. He heard other voices but never close enough carefully avoided so they wouldn’t be stopped unnecessarily. The air filled with the smell of disinfectant likely an infirmary. His back touched something soft and plush with care. A bed with silky sheets against his skin, the ambient warmth of the room. His torn clothes were removed by large, gentle hands. After that… nothing. He was far too exhausted to follow what was happening around him. He preferred to finally let himself fall asleep for good. He’d figure out the rest later.

*-*-*-*

The first time Kuzan woke up, he noticed the white ceiling—why was it always that color in places like this? To avoid straining the eyes? At least it helped a little, unlike the flickering bulb above that hurt his retinas.
He noticed the feeling of bandages, a cast from his foot to his knee it was worse than he thought. When he moved his head (far from a pleasant experience), he heard the bandages around his neck brushing against his skin, a subtle but reassuring sound. He hadn’t died with a slit throat something he could’ve concluded faster, given that he had opened his eyes minutes earlier. But it had taken him a moment to truly realize he was alive. Can’t blame him for being a bit slow. He didn’t notice anyone else in the room. The sun was setting, as he could see through the poorly closed curtains. He didn’t know how long he had slept, but the painkillers had clearly done their job.
A transfusion too, judging by the setup beside him.
He didn’t want to move much for obvious reasons.
He felt awful, and the urge to vomit came when he tried to sit up faster than he should have. Better to stay lying down the pillow did a great job supporting his aching head.
Best not to play games and instead enjoy the bed’s comfort. Recover, rather than worsen things by pretending to be tougher than he could realistically manage.

He sighed, stifling a sob, his throat tightening, his chest weighed down by a knot as heavy as lead. He tried not to clench his jaw too much so he wouldn’t hurt the bruises on his face. But now that he was safe, far from that place, a part of his treacherous brain couldn’t help but recall what had happened to him. It was harder than anything he’d ever endured wounding and degrading. He didn’t even know what words to put on what he’d felt during that hellish time.
He forced his body to relax “You’re safe now,” his brain kept saying. But it betrayed him again, reminding him, in a dark corner of his thoughts, that it was dangerous to trust too easily this false sense of protection. Even a familiar place could turn on you. Anything could happen. Terrifying. Cold sweat. Tension rising in the room. No just his imagination. Shamefully afraid. He had to calm down. Giving in to panic would help nothing. He was in a better place. He could only keep repeating the same mantras, trying to convince both his body and mind that he had been saved, that his life was no longer in immediate danger. He breathed more steadily, remembering those warm arms, that solid chest.
He was okay. No he was better now, at least for the moment.

*-*-*-*

The second time Kuzan woke up, he noticed first that it was pitch black outside. Then, he saw the water on the bedside table a blessing. He had sensed it there in a bout of paranoia he knew was irrational. The food on the tray had been inspected too. Nothing extravagant—soup and rice balls. But Kuzan knew he wouldn’t have been able to eat anything fattier or heavier without throwing it all back up.It had been so long since he’d eaten something this good, however simple. He took his time eating, even though he was starving not because he wasn’t hungry (quite the opposite), but because he feared he’d vomit it up if he ate too fast, which he wanted to avoid at all costs.
He’d been so poorly nourished. There was no way he’d waste this meal. The knot in his stomach loosened bite by bite. He didn’t overeat, even if there was food left on the tray. He drank more water, making sure he wouldn’t fall into dehydration after all he’d done to survive.
He lay back down, closing his eyes, forcing all distractions into silence. Finally, the peace he’d longed for.
He chased away every thought that might drag him back into memories he’d rather forget in any form.
And he managed to fall asleep again, gratefully, relieved to escape both mental and physical distress.

*-*-*-*

Birds were singing when Kuzan woke up again, too many awakenings for someone so exhausted and battered.
It was probably just before noon. Breakfast had been left on the bedside table. His transfusion had been changed, as had his bandages, now less damp, no longer stained with fresh blood. He could hear distant noises soldiers training, patrols in the hallways. This was home. He sat up, trying not to push himself. The kind bustle around him helped him forget those dreadful, unwanted things for a while, giving him enough peace to finally rest. A sigh escaped him less burdened with sorrow and pain. He actually felt calm. Not entirely at ease as he’d wish, but peaceful enough to truly rest this time. Yes, he believed he could really recover now not just repeating those generic motivational phrases in a denial he knew he had clung to for days and hours. He was convinced he had hope again, that he would pull through.
He didn’t yet know how, but he would. He was certain of it.
After all, he was a great man Aokiji Kuzan ! He would make it, even if it took time to melt the ice that had frozen his heart in hell’s deepest pit. Warm, blazing flames would save him. He would be able to leave it all behind. He was alive, after all. And he would fight.

*-*-*-*

Chapter Text

Sakazuki couldn’t say whether it was a good or a bad day.
At least, not before discovering the mountain of paperwork waiting on his desk. He could’ve decided not to get angry over such a trivial thing, but he had already vaporized his coffee in an overheated burst—breaking, in the process, his favorite mug—after hearing the reports about those damned pirates. Even worse, the one about the Straw Hat crew. That one had practically turned his hair grey, making him chain-smoke cigars as if his soul depended on it. He had often wanted to set his responsibilities on fire, so no, despite all his efforts, today did not seem like a good day at all. Koby had been a witness to all this. The kid was already terrified of him, so his foul mood probably hadn’t gone unnoticed by his fragile heart. Garp had decided, of his own free will, to go save the pink-haired brat's ass. Just thinking about it gave Sakazuki a headache. He had to go save Garp—though that man was probably unkillable anyway, still alive against all odds. The issue was more than delicate. Garp was on Blackbeard’s island. Or so Sakazuki thought until a few hours later, when it was confirmed that Garp had been found unconscious somewhere on an island by soldiers. That news made one stab of pain in his head vanish—a sharp one that had been like a spike through his skull. He didn’t know how that crazy old man had made it out, probably not alone. After all, we’re talking about Blackbeard’s crew here. So yes, Sakazuki really wanted to retreat to his personal room in his warm and comfortable quarters. He had decided to offload half his responsibilities onto a few unfortunate souls he’d managed to grab by the collar and force into doing them. He already had a good idea of what he would do. He took the most isolated corridors, enjoying not having to socialize until at least the next morning.

What he didn’t expect was to smell a scent he knew all too well. He froze. Something metallic and nauseating.
Blood in the air. His Haki warning him of a danger as thick as fog. He wasn’t surprised. Or rather, he was—but not in a way he wanted to be.

He had indeed found someone injured.
But more importantly, that someone was Aokiji Kuzan.

He didn’t know what to feel in that moment. A flood of thoughts raced through his mind, ranging from: Is he really a traitor? Was he sent here by Blackbeard? to more pointless and absurd ones like Is he okay? Has he eaten properly? Sakazuki felt stupid for thinking like that. Kuzan clearly wasn’t doing well—at all.

He approached, lighting a cigar to calm his nerves, or rather the screaming voices in his head, which only made his migraine worse. He crouched down. Kuzan was still breathing, despite his pathetic and deplorable state. There was no ice covering his missing limbs, which only proved how exhausted and weak the man in front of him was.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke without even realizing it, letting his eyes wander over the damage Kuzan’s body had taken.

Sakazuki wasn’t a doctor.
But he knew one thing—if it had been anyone else, they’d have been dead for over a decade. He couldn’t let him die here. Not like this. He couldn’t jump to conclusions about why Kuzan was back here, at Marineford.

A quick check wouldn’t hurt. Ankle, foot probably broken. Maybe the knee too. Bruises on his face—likely elsewhere as well. Bleeding from his neck, honestly from all over. His ears were full of dried blood—he probably had hearing issues too. Sakazuki couldn’t know more, but what he did observe was already far too much to linger here any longer.

He carefully slid one arm under Kuzan’s knees, the other supporting his neck. He was lighter than expected. Malnutrition seemed likely—a man of Kuzan’s size should weigh more. He was cautious with every step, avoiding hitting him against walls or doors. He deliberately took the least crowded paths for obvious reasons.

He tried talking to him, but got no reaction.
At least he was breathing—he wasn’t carrying a corpse to the infirmary.

He laid him gently on the bed and quickly searched for a nurse, explaining what he had observed so she wouldn’t waste precious time. He didn’t stay during the treatment—he didn’t want to get in the way. He knew nothing about medicine, so better not try and accidentally kill him.

Sakazuki came the first time just to see how to change a bandage. He wanted to be useful in case it was needed. No one else knew about this, except him and that nurse. And she clearly couldn’t handle it all alone.

So he decided to help—with limited skills, but still useful.

The second time he came, Kuzan was still resting. The sun had started to set outside. He had brought something to eat. Given the signs of malnutrition, Sakazuki chose something light but hydrating enough so the idiot wouldn’t die of thirst. He checked his condition. He looked a bit better.

But he seemed so weak and vulnerable.

He’d never seen him like this, except maybe when they had fought tooth and nail on Punk Hazard.
Sakazuki could admit now that those weren’t just a few scratches. Kuzan had lost a leg because of him—because he had burned it off like snow under the sun with his magma. There were still dark patches contrasting with Kuzan’s natural skin tone—places where he’d been scorched.

Did he regret it ?

Sakazuki was a little ashamed of himself. He always let himself be consumed like a rabid dog. Even during that infamous fight—it was no different.

He had convictions, dreams, and ambitions that came at the cost of another man’s suffering.

So no—it wasn’t just “a little” shame. He felt deep shame for hurting Kuzan like that.

Did Kuzan resent him? Probably.
Who wouldn’t resent someone for that?

But from what Sakazuki had seen…
Whoever had put Kuzan in this pathetic, borderline-wasted state wasn’t even human.

This wasn’t a fight like the one they had.
It looked like power abuse. Twisted. Malicious.

And for some reason one lost in a storm of tangled, conflicting emotions Sakazuki only wanted to find whoever did this and gut them, drowning them under a thick wave of lava.

Sakazuki knew his impulsiveness had betrayed him countless times. Sometimes he regretted it. In other cases, it was just collateral damage.

But getting mad like a caged beast wasn’t going to help Kuzan. Not now. Quite the opposite. He had to be gentle with him. Not confront him right away about why he had come back to Marineford.

He felt strange. A mess of questions layered over each other, becoming a chaos of contradictions he wished he didn’t have to deal with. Sakazuki had never felt this unsure of himself—of how to approach a situation.

The next time he came, the sun was just rising.

He had forced himself to change Kuzan’s blood-soaked bandages. Not that he didn’t want to—but he had been reluctant. Still, he didn’t want to make things worse by avoiding it.

In the end, everything went fine. He followed the instructions he’d been given. He checked the transfusion, replaced it by mimicking what the nurse had done.
He left a small breakfast. Nothing fancy, but enough to help Kuzan recover faster. To get him used to eating like a normal person again.

He opened the window to let in some fresh air.

He didn’t know when Kuzan would wake up, but unfortunately, Sakazuki had work to do.
He couldn’t stay here forever.

The nurse would call him when he woke up anyway.

He gave Kuzan one last look. Sakazuki knew no one was here but he looked around the infirmary anyway.
He didn’t want anyone to think he was getting soft.

When he leaned over, he placed two fingers gently against Kuzan’s neck, listening to the slow and steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He was okay.

Sakazuki had saved him from that cold, isolated corridor.
He allowed himself a naïve but confident thought : That he had brought Kuzan home. Back to Marineford. Back to his side.

He would make sure nothing ever happened to him again—
Whether the threat came from Kuzan himself or someone far worse.

Sakazuki had the guts to say :

He would be his guard dog,
If Kuzan wanted him by his side.

*-*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan didn’t know exactly where he was. No… he had a vague idea. But honestly, he preferred to block it all out—at least as much as he could.

He sank into his memories despite himself, unable to distinguish dream, nightmare, and reality. He didn’t really wake up. Was he even asleep? Was it still an illusion? He barely noticed the nurse tending to him. She had asked a few questions, murmured a quiet hypothesis, then requested permission to examine some of his wounds. He had accepted, reluctantly, knowing it was necessary if he wanted to heal. She had understood without pressing further — and he appreciated that she waited for him to wake before touching the more sensitive parts of his body.

He didn’t even realize she had already left. His mind had slipped away. Deeper and deeper.

And everything turned black and red again.

*-*-*

The air was unbreathable. Dusty, thick. A sickening stench of piss and vomit filled every corner of the confined space. Bile rose in his throat, a bitter rejection he tried to stifle against his trembling palm, without much success.

No… it couldn’t possibly smell any worse than this.

He was cold. His toes sank into the filth. His toenails, blackened, overgrown, scraped against the grime on the floor. A second skin of sweat, dust, and humiliation clung to him. Cockroaches and rats had become his only companions. And even then, they weren’t welcome. The squeaking, the scratching feet, the creaking walls… Those were the only sounds he heard, apart from his own wheezing, painful breath, getting shorter by the day. Curled up on himself, his bones jutted out like sharp, living thorns. His stomach was twisted, knotted like cold iron. He couldn’t even remember the last time he ate. Hunger gnawed at him with inhuman patience.

He couldn’t move freely. But it was better to stay there, against that wall. Against the illusion of safety.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t really sleep anymore. He waited.

Waiting for the right chance to escape this hell.

His damaged fingers kept scratching at the sea-prism stone collar tightened around his neck. It wasn’t just a restraint—it was a slow, calculated torture. The collar cut into his flesh, embedding itself beneath the skin as if to silently remind him: “Don’t even try.”

So Kuzan lay back down. Or rather, collapsed, onto the rough sheet that served as his bed.

He kept waiting.

*-*-*

It no longer smelled of mold and piss, but of antibacterial disinfectant, of the night breeze blowing in through the open window, letting in a breath of purified air. The sterile scent of metal, the constant beeping of a machine broadcasting to the world that his heart still beat in rhythm. Kuzan opened his eyes, blinking at the ceiling, still depressingly white. He rubbed the corners of his eyes. No surprise: crow’s feet. And tears. He wiped them away harshly. He could breathe better now, the collar was gone, no longer itching like eczema. He was no longer chained to that wall, no longer dragged into that cold, narrow cell. The sheets were a bright violet, clean and as soft as a sheep’s fleece, slowly consoling his alarmed mind.

It was bright here, everything open to welcome him properly. He wasn’t there anymore. The pain was gone—at least, not like in that dark hell. He was home, in Marineford. A shiver ran down his spine, so different from everything traumatic he’d experienced. He was safe here—his brain still had trouble believing it. But he was far from that island, far from that cell. He’d grown so used to the dark, the silence, the solitude, that everything now hit too hard, even if it was something good.

He was back in Marineford.

The distant sounds of the base, the military footsteps… This wasn’t a dream. It was real. As real as the discomfort of his bandages, as real as the bitter taste in his throat.

Then he felt a presence. Heavy. Almost too familiar.

He turned his head—slowly, painfully.

And there he was.

Sakazuki.

The Fleet Admiral stood there, arms crossed, slightly in the shadows. A pale light filtered through the blinds, casting sharp lines across his hard face. He didn’t speak. Not a word.

Their eyes met.

A long silence settled in—too heavy to be broken by easy words.

Kuzan didn’t have the strength to speak. Not yet. He didn’t even know what to say, anyway. He wasn’t sure what exactly he saw in Sakazuki’s eyes.

No anger. No blame. No pity either.

Something else. Something dangerously human.

Sakazuki didn’t move—not abruptly, anyway. His hands were always visible, deliberate, so Kuzan could see them. His gestures were careful as he prepared two cups of tea. He must’ve known—the nurse had probably shared her suspicions. The fleet admiral asked no questions. All he did was place the drink down gently, despite his large hands. He didn’t come too close, preferring to wait. The tension between them was complicated, but Sakazuki finally broke the silence, his voice deep, calm. Too calm.

“So you’re awake.”

Kuzan parted his chapped lips, wondering almost stupidly how a human even spoke anymore. Sakazuki simply gestured for him to drink before speaking. Which he did, without thinking twice.

“You must be confused. I understand. I won’t ask too much, not right away.” He reached for his cigars, sighed, remembering he couldn’t smoke here. “You don’t have to explain everything. Not if you don’t have the strength.”

“Sakazuki, I…” Kuzan didn’t even know what to say, truth be told. There was so much. So much to confess that nothing made sense in his head. It was as if that damn collar had returned—his throat was blocked, unable to express anything without being overwhelmed by disgust and shame.

“If you don’t know… I won’t blame you. I have a rough idea of what you must’ve gone through, alone, without me there. But I saved you. I’m here. You’re home. And this time, I won’t let you go again.” Sakazuki cautiously placed his hand over Kuzan’s trembling one.

“Sakazuki… oh… Sakazuki…”

“It’s alright. You can cry. Don’t hold back. I’ll thaw your heart, rebuild the broken pieces. And you’ll feel better for it.”

Kuzan cried, gritting his teeth. But as soon as he was enveloped in that warmth—bright as the sun—the scream broke free. Brutal. Heart-wrenching. He screamed with everything he had, shattering his vocal cords. He no longer had to stay silent or hide. Strong arms anchored him in the present moment, vulnerable, weak, and humiliated. Yet never pushed away. He was exhausted, overwhelmed by emotion. His body trembled like never before, and still Sakazuki stayed. He pieced the broken, battered fragments back together like a puzzle. And when all finally fell silent, when his body stopped shaking, he understood:

He had reclaimed himself. For the very first time.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Sakazuki’s day had been nothing but exhausting.
He’d had to talk to several people he had no desire to face about Kuzan returning half-dead to their base. He had laid out his perspective, slammed his fist on the table, argued himself hoarse until veins popped across his forehead, his Devil Fruit bubbling like a furnace.

The outcome, at least, was somewhat satisfactory: no one was ready to execute Kuzan without knowing what had truly happened to him. The extent of his physical injuries didn’t exactly point to betrayal — if anything, it made it hard to believe he was the traitor people suspected.
At least, Sakazuki believed so. He still had some faith in him — even if he shouldn't.
He was the Fleet Admiral, after all. Justice had to come first. The safety of civilians. The obligations that came with his rank.

And yet…
He couldn’t forget Kuzan.
He couldn’t make the same mistakes again.

The sun was sinking on the far side of the world, casting the base in a bruised-orange dusk. It was late. He should return to his quarters and try to ease the pounding headache that split his skull.

But just then, the nurse walked into his office after politely knocking.

He’d already yelled at Koby earlier for doing the same thing, with no remorse whatsoever. But she came bearing news of Kuzan. That was enough to spare her.

"Fleet Admiral Akainu, sir," she began. "I’m here regarding the patient. He’s regained consciousness, though he’s still confused. His vitals are stable. But… there’s something sensitive I need to discuss."

The woman fidgeted, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"What is it?" Sakazuki ground out, extinguishing his half-finished cigar in the smoke-absorbing ashtray, the smoke curling from his nose and lips, shadowing his already menacing expression.

"I don’t want to jump to conclusions," she said, biting the inside of her cheek, eyebrows drawn tight. "But based on the previous reports, and after receiving verbal consent from the patient to examine certain areas we hadn't been able to access while he was unconscious..."

"And?" Sakazuki exhaled heavily, weariness clinging to every syllable. He hoped this was as important as she made it sound.

"I believe— no. I’m certain, but we’ll need an official confirmation..." she hesitated, then added in a firmer tone:
"I fear your friend has been sexually assaulted."

“Sexual abuse…” He rose slowly, saying nothing.
He didn’t want to lose control of his temper. Not now.

What he felt wasn’t rage.
It was something else.
A metallic taste of rust in his mouth.

He had no idea what to say. No clue how to process it — how to feel it. With a curt gesture, he dismissed the nurse. She needed rest. He had only one thought in mind:

Go see Kuzan.

*-*-*

Sakazuki didn’t get angry when he struggled to light his cigar.

That wasn’t like him.
But that night, everything felt… off.
His polished leather shoes echoed along the empty hallways of Marine HQ, each step ringing hollow in the oppressive silence.

He felt strangely calm.
Too calm, in truth.
And that was never a good sign.

The shock had been so strong that his mind couldn’t focus.
Thoughts spun in every direction and refused to settle.

He stopped in front of the infirmary door.

He dreaded this encounter.
He was afraid.
His hand hovered mid-air above the doorknob, uncertain.

For the first time in a long while…
he doubted.

He, the unshakeable rock, the charger —
did not recognize himself.

He took one last drag from his cigar, then crushed it under his heel. With practiced care, he tossed the butt into a nearby bin. Then, finally,
he pushed the door open.

Slowly.
As if it might explode in his hands.

The smell of antiseptic hit him immediately.
He grimaced.
He’d always hated that scent.
It brought back far too many memories.

His eyes landed on Kuzan.

The man seemed lost in thought, eyes fixed on a distant, invisible point.
There was no joy in his face.
But Sakazuki said nothing.

He walked in silently, keeping a respectful distance, and sat down heavily in a chair a little ways from the bed. The leather of his jacket creaked.

He inhaled deeply.
Hands resting flat on his thighs.
Holding himself back.
Trying not to reach out.

He saw it.
The faint tremble in Kuzan’s fingers.
The clenched jaw.
The evasive eyes.

He knew.

There was no need to ask.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deeper than usual — and far calmer. Almost gentle.

“You’re awake.” A pause. “You must be confused. I get that. I’m not here to push you. Not tonight.”

He reflexively reached for his cigars, then stopped halfway.
He sighed and put them back in his coat.
Not the time.
Not the place.

“You don’t have to explain anything.
Not if you’re not ready.”

Kuzan parted his lips.
A sound escaped — hoarse, cracked:

“Sakazuki, I…”

He couldn’t finish.

Sakazuki shook his head slowly.

“If you don’t know… or can’t say it…
I won’t hold it against you.” He leaned forward, voice softening. “I have a rough idea of what you went through. And I wasn’t there.”

A twist of anger.
Not at him.
At himself.

“But I found you. I pulled you back.
And I’m here.”

A moment passed.

Then, slowly, he reached out.
His hand settled on Kuzan’s trembling, frozen one.

A hesitant contact. So unlike him.

“You’re home, Aokiji.
And this time... I won’t let you go.”

Kuzan flinched.
Then, almost involuntarily, his fingers gripped Sakazuki’s.
His eyes lifted to meet his, brimming with unshed tears.

He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then, in a broken whisper:

“Sakazuki... oh... Sakazuki…”

Sakazuki’s chest tightened.
There were no perfect words.
Only one simple promise that rose from deep within:

“You can cry. You don’t have to hold it in anymore.”
He gently squeezed his hand. “I’ll thaw your heart.
Put the broken pieces back together.
And you’ll see… You’ll feel whole again.”

And Kuzan broke down.

Not a quiet sob.
A scream.
Guttural. Raw. From the very depths of him.

His body folded in on itself, trembling violently.
He felt weak.
Exposed.
Ashamed.

But most of all —
relieved.

And Sakazuki didn’t move.
A man of magma, unable to contain the heat swelling in his chest.
He held him.
Anchored him.
Without a word.
Without overstepping.

Just a presence.
Solid.
Pained.
Guilty.

Because he had failed.
Because he had turned his back on this man once before.
Because he didn’t know if he could ever fix it.

But he was here now.
And this time…

he would not run.

*-*-*

Sakazuki drifted into his own unconscious mind, while Kuzan slowly relaxed against him, crushed beneath the weight of his own emotions.

He wiped his tears with a soft cloth — a gesture that didn’t suit him, but one he did without thinking.

He felt shame.
Not toward Kuzan.
But toward himself.

He had failed him.
Worse — he had hurt him.

His eyes fixated on Kuzan’s trembling hand in his.
And, unbidden, the memories surged back.

*-*-*

Punk Hazard.

The heat was suffocating, melting the ice beneath their feet. Magma erupted violently all around them.
Two former brothers, now titans turned monsters, fought without restraint.

Sakazuki roared.
His lava howled.
Each blow he delivered was not just an attack — it was judgment.

And Kuzan, somehow, still stood.
Eyes cold.
Proud.
Wounded — perhaps too much.

Then… that moment.
That flash of misstep.
Lava curling up his leg.

And then—

The scream.

A scream Sakazuki would never forget.

Flesh melting.
Snow stained crimson.
Kuzan collapsing, one knee to the ground, his leg half-destroyed.

Sakazuki could have finished him.
He didn’t.

He turned his back.
Let him go.
Left him to live with the pain — the disfigurement.
A permanent reminder of their war.
Their fracture.

He had won, yes.

But he was no victor.

*-*-*

Back in the infirmary, he felt suffocated.

Kuzan had fallen asleep, muscles finally slack.
The cloth soaked in tears had slipped to the floor.
Sakazuki picked it up. Folded it with care.
And stood.

He left the room in silence.

His footsteps echoed down the hallway, heavy.
He walked straight to his office, heart knotted in silent hatred — not toward others, but himself.

He shut the door behind him.
Let silence swallow him whole.

He tried to light a cigar, as usual.

But his hands shook.

The lighter clicked several times, refusing to catch.
Frustration rose — then a wave of rage.

He flung the lighter across the room.
It struck the door with a dull thud and fell.

Sakazuki stood there, fists clenched.
He inhaled deeply.
Again.
He closed his eyes.

"Not this time."

He opened them again.

"I have to do better.
Not for the Navy.
Not for Justice.
For him."

He slowly sat at his desk.
Silence pressing down like stone.

He took out another cigar — but didn’t light it.
He held it like a charm.

"I promised I’d stay.
That I wouldn’t walk away again."
He gazed into the darkness beyond the window.
"I’ll be there, Kuzan.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan immediately noticed the absence of warmth.
Sakazuki had left without a word. He hadn’t even closed his eyes—damn it.

Sweat clung to Kuzan’s temples like a cold shower, his skin slick with moisture. His limbs trembled. His breath came in short bursts. He should’ve known better.
Of course Sakazuki would leave! He doesn’t deserve it. He’s a burden, a weight. You scare him. You’re filthy. You’re disgusting.

His mind drowned in the same looped accusations.
His chest burned, and every pain felt earned. He deserved nothing more than being a piece of trash. Who would want him? He’s an abomination. So why… why on earth would Sakazuki want him ?

He could barely breathe. He was lost. Where was he? What had he done now? No, he didn’t want to be blamed again!
Why did Sakazuki abandon him? Nothing made sense. It was all so jarring, incoherent.

He felt a rising wave of despair—crying, retching, screaming… No—don’t become just another burden at work. If Sakazuki left him here, it must’ve been for a reason.

A cold shiver ran through his body, and dizziness overtook him.

He blinked, staring at the dark corner of the room… It’s so black in here.

*-*-*

I’m filthy. No. I’m dangerous. I should vanish… just erase myself.

The monitor’s steady beep stabbed at his ears. Too loud. Too close. Too alive.

He cupped his ears with both hands, jaws clenched.
His heart thudded uncontrollably, but it was impossible to tell if it was fear or shame.

He wanted it all to stop. He wanted to vanish.

He stared at the monitor’s screen. The jagged, unstable lines reminded him of something else—a wall… a carving. No… that cell. That goddamn cell.
His breath caught. He couldn’t stay here.

He wasn’t in the infirmary anymore.
The light changed. The air felt heavier, fouler. This place… the stench…

The same smell: fear… and that damned tart. That fucking tart, again. He could smell the warm, sweet pastry mingling with sweat. That revolting mix etched into his nostrils, his mind.

No… not again. Not him. Not that laugh.
His body seized without warning. He shook his plastered leg violently, panting, wracked with brief convulsions. The sheet tangled around him.
He fell off the bed, the impact muffled by panic.
He scrambled, crawling on the floor.

He had to run.
Before he came back. Before he grabbed him again.

*-*-*

“You asked for this.”
The thought hit him like a punch.

“It’s your fault. You deserved it. You’re just a fucking burden. A cast-off. Why would Sakazuki want you?”

His breath stuttered. He gasped.
He heard chains. He smelled hands on him.
He couldn’t even see the infirmary floor anymore.
Everything had disappeared.

Just darkness.

*-*-*

“Zeehahaha!” That laughter haunts him. He just can’t shut it out!

The cell door creaked open in a hideous screech. The noise was enough to tighten Kuzan’s jaw. He gritted his teeth until his gums bled.

“What did you expect, Kuzan?”

That hideous voice, again. That mocking tone. That sneer… He wanted to spit at him.

“You thought you could just save old Garp from my island, like a little hero, with no consequences?”

The man’s stench—sweat, dust, urine—hit Kuzan full force. It made his stomach churn, his throat close shut.

“You should’ve known better. Didn’t you have enough honor? To be part of my plan, my future… and walk away like that?”

A boot crashed into his side, folding him in half. His breath cut off; a low groan of pain clawed its way out of his throat. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold his head high despite the humiliation, fear, shame, and burning agony.
A bitter taste filled his mouth—blood… or regret.

“You’re worthless. Surprised the Marines threw you away?”
Blackbeard crouched, looming over him with a twisted delight that made the blood run cold.

“That Sakazuki Akainu didn’t want you anymore? Come now… you loved him, didn’t you?”

Blackbeard’s smile was repulsive—one of the grossest he’d ever seen. Even a toothless old man looked more dignified.

“How pathetic. He’s gone now. Was he ever really ready for you?”

He leaned in, voice low:

“You’re trash, Kuzan. Even a dump wouldn’t take you.”
He laughed again. That laugh—that damn laugh.

“Just imagine… the Fleet Admiral shattered you. Dismembered you. Took your limbs. And for what? For justice that never included you.”

Kuzan shook uncontrollably. His back slammed against the wall. His breathing hitched.

“Once again… this is your fault.”

*-*-*

Kuzan rammed himself against a medical cabinet in a blind frenzy. He’d do anything to silence that voice.
That asshole. That son of a bitch. That exasperating bastard, Blackbeard. Teach.

He panted, eyes darting for an escape—any escape.
He reached the door… or was it the cell’s door?
He crashed into the hallway, weak and breathless.
A groan escaped him.

Someone… someone is coming to help…

A single tear slid down his cheek.

He’s coming. He’s still there somewhere, in the shadows. He’s coming back. He’ll catch him again. He can’t let it happen.

He must run.

*-*-*

Thudding footsteps echoed down the hallway—heavy, hurried, alarmed.

Kuzan looked up, blinded by a harsh ceiling light. A figure approached… No… No, not him… not again!

He backed up, crawling half upright against the cold wall.
“Stay away… Don’t come near… Not you…”

He panted, breaths ragged, lips cracked, eyes wild. His whole body trembled.

“Kuzan.” A voice—deep, calming, achingly familiar. “Kuzan… look at me.”

A gloved hand reached out, steady, unthreatening.
He stared at it, shaky, frozen. The warmth… this was real. Not Blackbeard. Not a nightmare.

It was…

“Saka…zuki…?”

Fleet Admiral Sakazuki lowered himself slowly, his eyes grave but devoid of judgment. For the first time, there was no condemnation in that gaze.

“I’m here. You’re not alone. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe.”

Kuzan erupted into brittle sobs. His nerves shattered, he toppled against Sakazuki’s chest, helpless.
A callused palm pressed gently against the back of his neck.

“It’s over.”

*-*-*

Sakazuki stayed silent for a long moment, staring at the broken man he still held. His hand trembled— not from fear or rage, but something deeper, unspoken.

Then, in a low voice softer than usual, he murmured :

“Do you… want to come with me? To my quarters.”

Silence lingered. Kuzan blinked, still dazed. He slowly lifted his head, as though waking from a dream.

“Huh…?”

Sakazuki looked away, jaw clenched, focus falling to the floor.

“It’s just…” He paused. “This infirmary… it’s not the place to heal. Too cold. Too empty.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, then added :

“You can come… only if you want. I won’t force you.”

He didn’t speak like this often. Never did. But he knew he couldn’t leave him there. Not a second longer. Not after what he’d seen.

Kuzan, still numbed by waves of terror, opened his mouth—then closed it. He nodded slowly. Just barely. He didn’t have words, but that gesture was enough.

Sakazuki slipped an arm under his shoulders, and with uncharacteristic gentleness, helped him to his feet.

This time, he wouldn’t let go.

*-*-*

Sakazuki’s quarters reflected the man himself: austere, orderly, yet strangely welcoming.

There was no chill. Instead, the air smelled of dark tobacco, ash, and something subtler—like aged tea or worn leather. A quiet scent woven into Sakazuki’s clothes, his routine. An aroma Kuzan vaguely recognized now filling the whole room. This was him.

Kuzan hesitated at the door, uncertain.

“You can sit here,” Sakazuki offered, gesturing to a chair by a low table. “Or… take the bed. I’ll stay on the couch.”

The soft evening light softened the shadows. Sakazuki spoke with restraint, wary of overstepping. He kept his distance—but not too far.

Kuzan limped forward, the pain in his leg a dull ache. He chose the chair. He didn’t speak, but his gaze swept the room—neatly folded uniform jacket, a chipped cup on a shelf, a sword mounted on the wall…
It all felt like a familiar life, one he’d never dared look at this closely before.

Then he understood.
This wasn’t just a room.
It was Sakazuki’s refuge.

He wasn’t just offering shelter tonight.
He was offering a piece of himself.

And that… was new.

Kuzan drew a long breath. The panic receded, like a storm pulling away from shore. He wasn’t okay—but he wasn’t alone.

He dared to meet Sakazuki’s eyes at last.

“…You’re really letting me stay?”

Sakazuki leaned back against the wall, arms folded, voice steady and firm :

“Yeah. As long as you want.”

*-*-*

Kuzan rolled over on the narrow couch again, the plaster pulling with every movement. The scratchy fabric bothered his neck. And despite the deep fatigue, sleep remained elusive. The room was peaceful—too peaceful—but his mind stayed restless. He stared at the ceiling, seeking a fixed point. There was none.

He heard it then: a soft rustle… Then Sakazuki’s gravelly voice :

“Move like that and you’ll reinjure your leg, you know.”

Kuzan managed a soft sigh. A touch of a smile flickered before vanishing.

“I’ve been in worse…”

A pause. Then, tentative, almost awkward :

“The bed is bigger… and I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

Kuzan turned his head slowly. The bed did look vast from here—clean, inviting. He read no pressure in Sakazuki’s eyes. Just… concern. Watchful.

After a moment, Kuzan carefully climbed into the bed. Every inch hurt, yet his heart hammered for another reason.
Sleeping beside someone… it had been years. Sleeping with him was something else entirely. Possibly dangerous. Or maybe it was exactly what he needed.

He settled onto the mattress, closing the distance between the sheets. Sakazuki remained turned away, respecting the space.

Kuzan stared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes.

He braced for nightmares—the voices, the screams, the pain.

But none came.

Instead, he heard… gentle breathing. Close by. Warm.
And for the first time in far too long, Kuzan drifted into a deep sleep—with no nightmares.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Sakazuki should have known that leaving the way he did could have hurt Kuzan. Seeing him in this pathetic and undignified state, punching himself in the most painful part of his abdomen he had ever felt — it was unbearable. Sakazuki had been caught in his own panic, forgetting Kuzan. He truly wasn’t doing anything right. But he had promised to stay by his side. Bringing him to his dorm was the safest way to make him understand his mistake — that he would never leave him alone again.

Sakazuki sighed as he looked at him sleeping beside him, in his bed. Everything was swirling in his head. He had even let him walk on his cast — what an idiot he was. His hypothesis had been right, the infirmary confirmed it. Despite everything, it was Kuzan who had suffered abuse, and it was hard for him to get close to Sakazuki unless he was gentle. He had shown his hands openly, moved slower, more steadily, avoiding any aggressiveness.

Sakazuki had approached him like a wounded and frightened animal. He had never dealt with anything like this before. He had a tendency to be too abrupt and to get angry quickly. Even children found him intimidating — let alone adults. Koby was proof of that. If the kid could avoid him, he absolutely would. He was a ball of anxiety ready to wet himself the second he walked into Sakazuki’s office. Sakazuki didn’t know how to act without making Kuzan feel like a child or weak. But he wasn't weak.

Sakazuki wasn’t good at comforting people. But somehow, he had managed with Kuzan. He almost seemed comfortable with him — even though Sakazuki had also hurt him. Deep inside Sakazuki’s heart, there was a burning part filled with selfishness and possessiveness. Knowing that Kuzan trusted him… He had been hesitant at first, but now he understood Sakazuki meant well. Kuzan clearly needed support and affection.

It wasn’t in his nature. And yet, Sakazuki couldn’t help himself. He circled Kuzan with caution, trying not to let his flame melt the ice too closely. He had to do just enough for Kuzan to come back to himself — but not too much, or he would slip through his fingers like water. Sakazuki didn’t need to do better. He needed to be the best.

Why was he so clumsy around him? It was embarrassing. He felt like a prepubescent teenager. No wonder — he had always had a soft spot for Kuzan, after all. Was that why he was so gentle with him? Why his emotions unraveled so much more easily around him? My god — Sakazuki, going soft at his side.

What had happened to him? Did it have anything to do with Garp being found stranded on an island? Had Kuzan saved him? Sakazuki felt incredibly stupid. A part of his brain still screamed that Kuzan was just a traitor serving an Emperor. But the other part was almost overjoyed that he had come back — and that he hadn’t betrayed them.

What kind of abuse had he suffered? Sakazuki grimaced in disgust. Blackbeard had gotten his hands on him — what a disgusting man. Sakazuki felt like vomiting. Sexual abuse was horrifying. Even the worst criminals wouldn’t dare. It seemed that the title of Emperor had gone to those bastards’ heads. Sakazuki would deal with it. He was sure that physical abuse wasn’t the only torture Kuzan had endured — mental, psychological, sensory torment too. Sakazuki would slap that bastard himself.

But there was no point in getting angry now. Sakazuki had to think of Kuzan first. He shouldn’t wake him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Sakazuki relaxed a little, listening to Kuzan’s heartbeat beside him, like a lullaby. He sighed. He’d think about the rest later. Along with the mountain of work waiting for him tomorrow. Might as well set it all on fire — and avoid another migraine.

He settled into his side of the pillow, closing his eyes. Strangely, his head wasn’t buzzing, nor was there that sharp pain behind his eyes. He let himself drift into a peaceful, healing sleep.

*-*-*

The smell of hot rice and grilled fish slowly stirred Kuzan awake. It was almost surreal — like a distant memory from a time when nothing was urgent. He blinked slowly, still groggy, his body protesting every movement. But he wasn’t alone. Not this time.

Sakazuki, his back turned, was busy near a makeshift kitchenette. An open bento box, tea steeping. Nothing exceptional, but every movement seemed to say: stay there, I’ve got this.

Kuzan rubbed his neck, still surprised this wasn’t a dream.

"You cook now?" he grunted, his voice thick with sleep.

"Eat," Sakazuki replied without turning around — but there was no edge in his voice.

Kuzan gave a tired smirk. Coming from him, it was almost affectionate.

Sakazuki placed the plate on the low table beside the bed, then picked up a stack of files under his arm. He looked like he was going to sit on the nearby chair, but hesitated. Then, in a quiet effort not to make the room feel even colder, he sat on the edge of the bed, back against the wall.

"I’ve got enough work for three admirals. But I’m not leaving you alone," he said simply, opening a file.

Kuzan, mouth full of rice, raised an eyebrow.

"So you’re watching me or just pretending to be nice?"

"Can’t I do both?"

A soft silence followed. Not heavy. Just… shared. The kind of silence you live in, not suffer through. Sakazuki scribbled quickly, his stiff handwriting filling page after page, glasses sliding down his nose. Now and then, he sighed between paragraphs. Kuzan chewed slowly, as if rediscovering what it meant to eat without looking over his shoulder.

Then, without looking at him, Sakazuki said :

"Tell me if you need anything. Even if it’s just me staying here."

Kuzan stared at him for a moment, his eyes clearer, less distant.

"You staying… that’s already something," he murmured.

And they stayed there.
One reading pirate reports, the other finishing breakfast slowly. Two former rivals, now tied by a silence stronger than most promises.

*-*-*

Sakazuki looked up from his report. Kuzan, curled up under the covers, didn’t even stir. Sleep had come back for him like a heavy blanket.

"Enter," Sakazuki called, low but firm.

The door opened gently, revealing Koby. The young man carried a stack of documents so high his face was barely visible.

"N-Northern Quarter reports, convoy logs, and the last three weeks’ weather data, l-like you asked," he stammered, avoiding Sakazuki’s gaze.

Sakazuki took the stack without a word, placed it on the low table, then stared at Koby. For a long time. That look everyone avoided — the one that made even the brave sweat.

"Koby."

"Y-Yes, Admiral?!"

Silence. Then, to everyone's surprise (especially Koby’s), Sakazuki asked in a gruff voice:

"You live with your… boyfriend. How do you take care of someone? When they’re not okay."

Koby’s eyes went wide.
"Uh… you mean emotionally or physically? Because… it’s not really the same…"

Sakazuki raised an eyebrow, already annoyed. "Both. He’s hurt. Traumatized. Talks little. Struggles with contact."

"O-Oh… well, uh… I always make stuff he likes, even if it’s not perfect. I stay near him, but not too close. And sometimes I… I hold him, just a little, like… a reassuring presence. And I talk. Not about heavy stuff. Just… so he knows I’m there. I—"

He stopped under Sakazuki’s intense frown. That look.
"…It’s dumb, huh?" he muttered, curling in like a rabbit.

"No. It’s naïve. But not dumb."

Koby gave a nervous laugh, clearly uncomfortable.

"I do my best. It’s just… when you love someone, you find the gestures, even if you’re bad at them at first…"

A second of silence.
Sakazuki tilted his head.

"…You say that like I’m in love."

Koby paled. "I never said that! I-I didn’t mean to imply— I mean, you can also… I mean, Kuzan isn’t— anyway, I have to go, Admiral, good luck, thank you goodbye!!!"

And he vanished, faster than a hare fleeing a lion.
The door closed with a sharp click.

Sakazuki stood there, staring at the doorknob, thoughtful. Then he returned to the bed, where Kuzan had shifted in his sleep, one hand visible outside the blanket.

"When you love someone…"

He took a deep breath, sat down heavily near the bed, a file on his lap he didn’t really read.
He didn’t love Kuzan like he loved others.

Not like a comrade.
Not like a subordinate.
Not even like a rival.

There was something gentler.
Hotter. A warmth in tension, trapped in his chest.

"Maybe that’s the problem," he muttered.

Should he care for him like a friend… or like a lover?
He had never asked himself that before.
And it was driving him crazy.

*-*-*

He hadn’t turned a page in minutes.
The words on the paper were clear, neat, impeccable. But they slipped past his eyes like steam. His mind was elsewhere. Stuck.
He looked at Kuzan.

His face was still tense with unrestful sleep. Dark circles hollowed his skin. Even asleep, he seemed to be fighting.
Sakazuki placed his forearm on the folder, his jaw tight.

What the hell is this? Since when did he feel so… exposed?
He knew how to handle battlefields, rebellions, decisions with a thousand lives at stake. But this?
This calm?

This sleeping body his own refused to pull away from?

He didn’t like it. He hated it.
And yet… he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

He didn’t understand the quiet urge to be here. Just here.
Within breathing distance of Kuzan.
Was he really supposed to treat him like a lover?
Was that the answer?

No. That would be… too much. Too fast.
Especially for Kuzan, in this state.

But… had he ever shown this kind of patience for anyone else? Would he have stayed up all night for another marine, another man, like he had here?
No.

Even for his best officers, his most loyal, he wouldn’t have tolerated this kind of vulnerability.
He would have yelled. Demanded they pull themselves together. Tightened his fists. Enforced discipline.

But now?
Now, he had run his hand through Kuzan’s hair during a nightmare.
He had let him sleep against his chest.
He had even made a damn breakfast.

"What are you becoming, Sakazuki?" he asked himself bitterly.

He rubbed his face slowly, like trying to scrub off the weakness leaking out of him.
But deep down, he knew this wasn’t weakness.
It was something else.
Something he had never learned to name.
Never dared to nurture.

And what if Koby was right?
If love makes you find the right gestures — even without realizing it?

He inhaled, stood up, and gently pulled the blanket back over Kuzan’s shoulders.
He stayed there, frozen for a moment.
Then, almost without thinking, he murmured:

"You’d better get better. I won’t let you fall again. Even if I have to hold you with both hands."

A whisper.
Almost a promise.
Maybe even a confession.

He sat back down, elbows on knees, eyes lost in the far wall.

He didn’t understand all he was feeling…
But he understood this bond would cost him.
And that he was ready to pay.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Koby closed the door behind him, completely disoriented after his conversation with Sakazuki. He hadn’t understood everything — but what he had picked up unsettled him deeply: was the Fleet Admiral in love with Kuzan? Or... were they together? Honestly, he no longer knew what to think. Maybe Sakazuki loved him without even realizing it himself?

Koby let out a long sigh and grabbed his Den Den Mushi. He needed to talk to someone he trusted.
He called his boyfriend: Shanks.

He knew their relationship was forbidden. Loving a pirate — an Emperor, no less — went against everything he had been taught. But if Sakazuki was really with Kuzan, who was technically a traitor... then was Koby really the one at fault?

The Den Den Mushi instantly took on the cheerful, relaxed face of the redhead.

“Koby, my bunny! What news do you bring me?” Shanks said in his usual cheerful tone.

“I can’t say too much,” Koby replied, lowering his voice. “But… from what I understand, Sakazuki-san might be in a relationship with Kuzan-san. You remember? I told you about his return...”

Koby began walking quickly down an empty hallway, checking his surroundings.

“Hmm… I got the gist. He was found badly injured, right? You told me your superiors were hesitant about letting him stay, considering he’d been with that damned Blackbeard crew.”

Shanks seemed to have straightened up on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, but seeing the state Sakazuki-san found him in, everyone ended up agreeing he wasn’t a traitor.”

Koby reached his dormitory, glanced left and right, then slipped in quietly.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Shanks growled. There was the sound of a bottle being opened — probably yet another rum. “Blackbeard... I never could stand that guy. He’s unhinged, insane. Even Kaido had more honor than him. Just the fact that he betrayed a man like Whitebeard makes me sick.”

“He’s anything but good,” Koby replied. “Manipulative, cowardly — and even his own men are afraid of him.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if he stabbed a few of them in their sleep,” Shanks muttered.

A silence lingered for a moment.

“I hope Kuzan pulls through. We still don’t really know what happened to him,” Koby said, his voice lower now. “And I think... he doesn’t want everyone to know. But even if he’s a former Marine, I do have respect for him.”

“And he deserves it.”

Koby smiled.

“Thank you, Shanks. As long as Sakazuki-san is with him, I think he’ll be okay. I’ve got to go, I’m going to see Garp…”

“Good luck. And remember — I love you, bunny.”

“I love you too.” He hung up.

He sighed again, ran a hand through his hair, and looked at his tired reflection in the mirror above the sink. His heart was beating a little faster. Garp had just been brought back to headquarters — alive, but weakened. Koby wasn’t sure how the conversation was going to go.

Or even what Garp actually knew about what had happened to Kuzan.

He walked down a hallway, descended a few steps, and arrived at a heavy metal door guarded by two soldiers, who stepped aside immediately.

He took a deep breath.

The door slid open.

And Garp’s rough but familiar voice rang out — weakened, but still unmistakable:

“So, Koby… Got anything to tell me, kid?”

*-*-*

Koby only told Garp what he knew — or rather, what they had allowed him to know.

He told him about the Fleet Admiral, about how Sakazuki had been taking care of Kuzan since his return. He also mentioned, half-whispered, the rumors: that maybe they were together. Nothing had been confirmed officially, but some whispered that Kuzan was staying in Sakazuki’s private quarters.

“I don’t know exactly why…” Koby added, a little embarrassed. “But I think it’s so he can get more intensive care… and also so he’s not alone.”

He fell silent for a moment before continuing, in a lower voice.

“I think… Sakazuki-san wants to watch over him personally.”

He didn’t dare say more. Garp wasn’t one to get emotional easily. But Koby didn’t know what to expect. He had no idea what Garp really knew… or what he thought of all this.

You’re tapping into something powerful here — a human crack in a mythic character like Garp, and you’re doing it without betraying who he is. It’s poignant, melancholic, and perfectly in tone.

Garp sank into his thoughts as Koby’s words settled in. He never imagined that saving Koby would come at such a price for Kuzan. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

He should have been able to help him. But he himself had been too battered, too broken — nearly reduced to nothing. It was Kuzan who had lifted him onto the first ship leaving Hachinosu — without a word, without a goodbye.
Garp had clung to a naïve, almost stupid hope: maybe Kuzan could escape right after… maybe he’d make it.

But no.

He had been too idealistic. Too sure of himself.
If he hadn’t played the hero to save Koby… maybe Kuzan wouldn’t have had to pay that price. Maybe he’d still be free. Still standing. Still whole.

Instead… they locked him up like a criminal, in a damp, freezing cell. Nothing to warm his body. Or his heart. Nothing but the silence of the dead.

This is all my fault, Garp thought. I’m selfish. I can never protect the ones I love.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. He had been a legend. A hero. A pillar of the Navy. But today?

Today, he was just an old man sitting in the shadow of his failures.

Kuzan. Ace. Koby. Even Luffy… I’m no hero. I’m just… a disappointment.

He almost forgot Koby was still there with him. As if the young man was just a distant memory in the noise of his mind.

*-*-*

Koby didn’t know what to do. Garp remained silent, his gaze lost, fixed on a point only he seemed to see. Without a word, Koby sat down on the bed — slowly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile balance of the room.

He reached out and took his mentor’s hand. The old man’s rough skin contrasted with his own, still too young. Garp didn’t react at first… then, after a few seconds, he squeezed Koby’s fingers — tightly.
And without warning, he pulled Koby into a hug.

Koby’s breath caught in a small gasp of surprise, his head resting against the massive chest of the old man. He felt his breathing — uneven. Shattered.
And soon, he understood: Garp was crying. Silently.

A large, trembling hand gently rested in his pink hair. Koby closed his eyes.

He said nothing. Asked nothing. He just stayed there, in the arms of the man he had always seen as indestructible.

And he let him cry.

As long as it would take.

A long silence passed. Then Garp’s voice, deep and tired, broke the air softly:

“He fought to the end… that damn kid.”

Koby looked up, but Garp still wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the shadow cast by the lamp, as if he saw the battlefield there.

“Kuzan protected me when it should’ve been the other way around. We were surrounded… I could see the tide turning. And him, with his usual calm, just said: ‘I’ll freeze the path. You run.’”

A bitter laugh escaped his throat.

“I thought he’d follow me. But no… he stayed. He faced them so I could get away.”

Koby squeezed Garp’s hand a little tighter.

“I always wanted to believe I was stronger than fate, stronger than destiny. But that day, Koby… I felt old. Powerless.”

He took a long breath, then added, voice harder, more resolved:

“That won’t happen again.”

He placed a hand on Koby’s cheek, finally meeting his eyes.

“You. Luffy. Kuzan. You’re what I have left that’s good in this ruined world. I lost Ace. I lost so many comrades. But you three…”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his voice trembling with restrained emotion.

“I’ll do better. I might not be a hero anymore, but I can still be a man worthy of those he loves.”

He pulled Koby back slightly to place both hands on his shoulders.

“I promise. I won’t let you down again. Not you, not Luffy, not that damn iceberg with the too-big heart.”

A pained smile tugged at his lips.

“We deserve better than to die in the shadows, don’t we?”

Koby nodded, eyes wet, but heart a little lighter.
For the first time in a long while, he felt protected again.
And Garp, despite everything… was still there.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

The air reeked of gunpowder, blood, and fear.

Cries echoed in every direction, among the flames and bodies fallen into the filthy mud of the Hive Island. The ground trembled with every clash of haki, every explosion, every roar of rage. Garp was at the heart of the chaos, his fists stained with blood.

He had brought down dozens — pirates, monsters, cowards, fanatics — but the old pain in his ribs reminded him of a simple truth: he was no longer the man he used to be.

And yet, he smiled.

Because he was here for Koby. For Helmeppo. For his kids.

And to remind those Blackbeard bastards that the Marine Hero was not dead yet.

But suddenly, the ground froze.

The humidity thickened. The light seemed to die.

A sinister crack ran through the battlefield, like a groan from the very depths of hell. And then, he appeared.

“Tch… Garp. Had to come, didn’t you.”

Kuzan.

His gaze was as empty as a battlefield after carnage. His cape fluttered behind him, shoulders stiff, arms hanging by his sides, already covered in frost biting the air.

Garp clenched his fists, but his heart clenched even harder.

“So it’s true. You chose to rot with these trash.”

“I did what I had to do. And you, did you come here to die?”

There was no war cry. No dramatic gesture. Just two mountains colliding.

Garp’s black haki fist struck Kuzan’s chest, shattering the ice and sending the young man’s body flying several meters. The impact made the earth tremble. But Kuzan got up, impassive, and countered without a word.

A spear of ice burst from the ground, tearing into Garp’s left shoulder. Blood flowed. He didn’t flinch.

They exchanged dozens of blows. The old giant laughed despite the cuts, despite the pain. Kuzan remained cold, but his moves lacked the hatred that Blackbeard so loved in his dogs.

And Garp saw it.

He saw that Kuzan was holding back.

“You really wanna kill me, Kuzan? Then hit like a man. Or are you just some lapdog for another bastard now?”

“Shut up.” Kuzan growled. “You know nothing. You understand nothing.”

“Then explain it to me, damn it! Since when did you abandon everything we believed in together?”

“Since Marineford, old fool. Since we watched a kid die while the monsters laughed.”

Garp’s fist froze mid-air. That sentence sliced through his mind like a rusty blade.

But he had no time to answer. Behind him, a vicious shot pierced his side.

A Teach man. A bullet imbued with haki. Garp dropped to his knees. And all he saw was Kuzan shouting something he couldn’t hear before freezing the attacker in place, killing him instantly.

*-*-*

Everything was blurred.

Not because of darkness — no, Garp had faced far darker nights than this. It was something else. The blood clinging to his temples, his eyelids refusing to stay open, the dull pain in his ribs. A pain so deep, so heavy, it seemed to seep into his bones like burning lead.

His cell was tiny. A damp stone square carved into the rock, without light, barely any air. The floor seeped filth. A moldy straw mattress collapsed in a corner, more alive with vermin than fabric.

The smell was worse than anything.

A mix of piss, dried blood, spilled rum, and human sweat. A stench so thick it stuck to his throat, to his nostrils, to his tongue. He had vomited on the first day. Maybe the second too. He had lost track. He was cold, despite the Hive’s humid heat. Or maybe it was fever. Maybe infected wounds.

His wrists bled.

The chains were too tight, deliberately, cutting into flesh with every move. He didn’t move anymore. Not because he wanted to save strength. But because he had none left.

Outside, the laughter continued. The coarse voices, drunken songs. Screams too. Sometimes pain, sometimes excitement. Everything mixed into one grotesque cacophony that filled the prison like a tide of mud.

“It’s Gaaaaaarp! The great hero in his little cage, ha ha ha!”

A pirate yelled in the corridor. Others burst out laughing. They pointed at him like a circus freak, sometimes throwing bones, leftover food, or worse. Once, someone had pissed on him through the bars. He didn’t even have the strength to react.

But it was Blackbeard’s laugh that chilled his blood every time.

He didn’t come often. But when he descended into the stinking corridors, his laugh came before him, rolling like a storm rumble, heavy, sinister, joyous in a twisted way. And Garp, even half-conscious, recognized it immediately.

“Zehahahahaha! So the old lion is in a cage now! Lost your teeth, Garp?”

He didn’t even have the strength to answer. He only had that laugh in his ears for hours after, like poison. And that hoarse, dripping voice whispering in his ear:

“You’re gonna rot here. And no one will come looking for you. Not your little protégé, not your traitor son, not even Sengoku. Even your grandson is too busy playing pirate. You’re alone. And you’ll die like a rat.”

He had wanted to answer. To spit. But his lips were cracked, and his mouth too dry.

He no longer knew if he had slept. Maybe a little. Maybe a whole day. Maybe he was dying, really.

He had dreamed of Koby. Of Luffy. Of Ace. Of Dragon, even. Blurred faces. Forgotten laughter. And a silhouette in the snow. Blue. Silent. Sad eyes.

Kuzan.

“You couldn’t save him either, huh, old fool…”

A drop fell from the ceiling. Then another. Then a trickle of icy water ran down his back.

And as he shivered, trembling from fever and shame, a figure finally appeared.

Silent. Tall. A cold mist seemed to wrap around him. The chains of the cell slowly covered with frost, without a sound, as if the very air had frozen, holding its breath.

“… Garp.” The voice was deep, weary. Almost hoarse.

Garp opened an eye. He thought he was dreaming. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“… Kuzan?”

“Don’t move.”

“Zehahahahaha!” echoed suddenly in the distance, like a shadow.

Kuzan turned his head toward the sound, without a word. His gaze darkened. And the cell grew even colder.

*-*-*

A few hours later…

Garp woke half-covered by a makeshift blanket on a fleeing ship. The sky was black. The air cold.

Next to him, a soldier was trembling. Helmeppo was crying in the back. And on the shore, in the mist, he thought he saw a bent silhouette. A frozen gaze.

“Come back, idiot…” he murmured, almost delirious.

But Kuzan had already disappeared.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

The sand was cold. The sea's humidity clung to his skin like invisible chains. Garp opened his eyes with a sharp gasp. The salty air burned his nostrils.

He didn’t understand right away where he was.

All he knew was that he was no longer in that cell. He no longer smelled the stench of the Hive, nor the rusted iron of the chains, nor the sick echo of Teach’s laughter. Instead, he felt the sea breeze on his face, and the waves licking his feet.

He tried to sit up.

Impossible. Every muscle, every nerve felt reduced to ashes. His ribs screamed, his throat was a desert, and his skull throbbed as if a cannonball had exploded inside it. He let himself fall back onto his side with a guttural groan.

Then, voices. Distant at first. Then clearer. A woman. A man.

"There! Over there! It’s him, it’s Garp!"

"God… is he alive?"

Hurried footsteps on the sand. The cry of gulls. The lapping of water.

Someone leaned over him. A shadow. Two. He recognized a voice among thousands.

"Vice Admiral Garp! It’s Helmeppo! Can you hear me?!"

And another, gentle but firm, laced with restrained worry:

"Don’t move, please. We’ll get you out of here."

Garp felt arms under him. A coat thrown over his frozen body. He lost consciousness for a few seconds.

*-*-*

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a cabin, lying on a bed. The roof creaked under the wind, a light rain lashed the windows. His wounds had been treated, his torso wrapped in clean bandages. The scent of tea floated in the room.

Helmeppo sat on a chair nearby, visibly worried.

Hibari entered with a bowl of hot soup, her blond hair tied back, sleeves rolled up. She sat next to her companion and gave him a tired smile.

"He moved, I think."

"Sensei… the ship capsized… we ended up on this island," Helmeppo murmured, eyes gleaming.

Garp looked at them one after the other. He smiled faintly, his lips cracked.

"Tch… you two, huh…"

Helmeppo blushed, but didn’t look away. He gently held Garp’s hand in his own.

"Yes, Vice Admiral. We’re together. Have been for a while now."

Hibari gave him a tender look. Then to Garp:

"We’ll stay a few more days. Until your condition stabilizes. Then we’ll find a way to get you back to Marineford."

Garp closed his eyes, sighed deeply. He didn’t have the strength to comment, nor to grumble about the revelation. In truth, it warmed him a little, despite everything.

"Take care of each other…" he mumbled.

And for the first time in a long while, Garp slipped into a deep sleep. No chains. No walls. No demon laughter.

Just the whisper of rain, and two young faces watching over him.

*-*-*

The storm lasted three days.

The sea was too rough to consider an immediate departure, and the weather prevented any long-range Den Den Mushi calls. Isolated from the rest of the world, in this makeshift cabin nestled in a forgotten cove of the Grand Line, Helmeppo and Hibari cared for Garp like a dying father.

Each day, they changed his bandages, washed him with warm water heated over a makeshift fire, gave him small meals, and tried to keep his mind alert. Helmeppo told stories to keep him awake. Hibari hummed sometimes when she thought he couldn’t hear.

He listened.

Not always consciously. But in the silence between two hazy dreams, he felt their quiet, sincere love. Their constant presence. And that, more than any treatment, slowly brought him back to life.

*-*-*

On the fourth night, after making sure Garp was sound asleep, Hibari sat at the edge of the makeshift wooden and rope bed. She looked at the wrinkles on the forehead of the old giant with surprising tenderness.

Helmeppo arrived with two cups of hot tea. He placed one in Hibari’s hands before sitting beside her. Their shoulders touched, naturally.

"He’s holding on," he murmured. "I don’t know how he survived back there."

Hibari nodded.

"I think it’s for him. For Koby. For Luffy. For the ones he calls his brats…"

A silence settled, but it was neither heavy nor sad. More like soothing. Like balm. Then Helmeppo slid his fingers between Hibari’s.

"You know… if I’d lost either of you, I wouldn’t have made it either."

Hibari lowered her eyes, a slight blush on her cheeks.

"You’ve told me that a hundred times. But I never get tired of hearing it."

He smiled. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"When all this is over… let’s take a real vacation, hm? A real island. Not a shelter for half-dead old heroes."

"Promise," she replied.

They stayed like that for a long time, listening to the fire crackle. Garp’s hand moved in his sleep. Hibari quietly got up to adjust the blanket.

Helmeppo watched her.

He knew she wasn’t just an ordinary soldier, no more than he was himself. They had grown up in the shadow of bigger figures—Koby, Garp, the Celestial Dragons, the Admirals… But here, far from everything, they were just two young people who had found love in a broken world.

And that night, on this wind-beaten island, they silently made a shared vow: to protect the ones they loved, no matter what.

*-*-*

The sea was calm that morning. A rare lull after so many stormy days.

The medical ship arrived at the Marineford harbor at sunrise, escorted by two patrols of light warships. On the deck, Sengoku was already waiting, arms crossed, face hardened by tension, though his eyes betrayed a deep worry.

He hadn’t said a word since the ship’s signal had been received during the night. He had simply waited, upright, impassive, the hat of justice tilted forward to hide what showed in his eyes.

When Garp disembarked, supported by Helmeppo and Hibari, the old man was too weak to joke. He barely lifted his eyes. He looked drained. Broken, almost.

But Sengoku immediately stepped forward and embraced him without asking permission.

"You old bastard…" he murmured, voice tight. "You’re a pain in the ass always trying to carry everything on your own."

Garp, still groggy, let out a faint grunt.

"I thought you didn’t like hugs, Sengoku…"

The Buddha let out a rough laugh, then signaled to the medics.

"Take him to my quarters. Not the infirmary. I want him to have peace. And quiet."

"Understood, Vice Admiral," a doctor replied.

Sengoku then turned to Helmeppo and Hibari.

"You’re staying with him. As long as needed."

"Yes, sir!" they said in unison, almost relieved.

*-*-*

Koby arrived in the main hallway, just as Helmeppo and Hibari were getting ready to leave Garp some rest. They all turned to each other at the same time. A breath. A suspended moment.

And then they threw themselves into each other's arms.

"You’re alive…!" Koby whispered, eyes filled with tears.

"We promised you," Helmeppo murmured.

"Garp’s safe now," added Hibari, placing a comforting hand on Koby’s back.

It was a clumsy group hug, full of quiet sobs, built-up exhaustion, and unwavering love for the man who had guided them all in his own way.

Then Hibari stepped back.

"Go. He’s waiting for you, even if he’ll never admit it."

Koby nodded and entered the room where Garp was resting. The light was dim. A faint scent of tea hung in the air. The old man was half asleep, but opened one eye at the sound of the door.

Koby smiled at him.

"Rest. I won’t stay long."

Garp grumbled something unintelligible. Then closed his eyes again.

Koby stood there a few more seconds, his heart a little lighter.

*-*-*

Koby had barely breathed while hearing Garp’s whole story. It was as if he was seeing the flashback himself through the old Marine’s eyes. What he had endured… it was nearly unimaginable.

He must have gone through hell. He had suffered. And Koby realized he hadn’t even thought of himself during the tale — his mind had been entirely focused on Garp.

Garp had allowed him to take notes while he spoke, so that he could submit a report to Sakazuki-san. But with every sentence, Koby wondered: what if Kuzan hadn’t saved him? What if Hibari and Helmeppo hadn’t arrived?

Would Garp even still be alive?

He clutched the report to his chest as he left the room. The old man needed rest.

In the silent hallway, Koby allowed himself a pause. He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly. He had to be a good friend. A real one. Someone others could count on.

He would help Garp. And Kuzan-san. And Sakazuki-san. And all those who had no one to support them.

But for now, he had a mission. And a report to deliver to the fleet admiral — so at least one more person would understand what had really happened back there.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Koby was still shaken after everything he’d learned about what had happened to Garp. If Kuzan had been alright before Garp left... then what had happened in the meantime? Surely it was everything Garp had gone through, right? Koby knew he wasn’t supposed to get involved. Even though he wanted to help with every fiber of his being.

But deep down... wasn’t that exactly what he was doing by handing this report to Sakazuki-san?

He promised himself he’d call Shanks later. Maybe he’d have a clearer take on all of this.

He knocked gently on the dorm room door. Sakazuki-san was still as intimidating as ever, his presence towering like a mountain. Koby always felt like his bones were clashing against each other when he stood in front of him. He tried not to stutter as he handed him the report he’d written.

“I went to see Mr. Garp. Here’s the information he was willing to share about what happened during his captivity at Hachinosu...”

“At ease, Koby. You’ve done good work.”

And if anyone asks... Koby absolutely did not blush when Sakazuki praised him and ruffled his hair!

He simply turned around and walked away, leaving the Fleet Admiral alone.

*-*-*

Sakazuki was reading the report Koby had handed him. Even rushed, it was well-structured, clear, and precise. More than once, his brow furrowed as he read.

It wasn’t an easy story. What had happened to Garp was far from glorious. A pang of guilt hit him thinking it had been Koby who had to handle it. Maybe it should’ve been Sengoku instead? But their old rivalry, full of unspoken manly pride—“I’ll trust you with this, but I won’t tell you anything because I’m a man”—would’ve led nowhere. In the end, Koby had been the right choice.

He only hoped the pink-haired boy’s companion would know how to comfort him... and keep the nightmares at bay.

Sakazuki sighed. He was an intelligent man, a lucid one. He understood: what had happened to Kuzan was a consequence of saving Garp. But Garp had done things his own way... and this was the result. He couldn’t really blame him. After all, he hadn’t acted any better.

He’d let Kuzan go.

Maybe a lot of things would’ve been different if he’d made a different choice.

But there was no point thinking about that now.

It had happened. Period.

He turned his gaze to the bed. Kuzan was sleeping, belly full. Still too thin, but at peace. Sakazuki had made him a proper meal—enough to lull him into restful sleep, satisfied.

And as he watched him, a dull warmth rose in his chest. Something soft. Almost peaceful.

Something he only felt when he took care of Kuzan.

*-*-*

The light was dim. Just enough to make out the shadows on Kuzan’s sleeping face.

Sakazuki had stayed there a long time, sitting next to the bed, motionless. A gloved hand rested on his former comrade’s, almost by accident. He could’ve said he’d fallen asleep like that. But that wasn’t true.

He was holding his hand. On purpose.

When Kuzan opened his eyes, he blinked several times, still a bit dazed.

Sakazuki, without letting go, said softly:

“Garp is okay.”

Kuzan stayed silent. He didn’t seem surprised. Maybe he had guessed. Or hoped.

“I know you did something stupid for him,” Sakazuki added, more quietly. “I’m not gonna pretend I didn’t figure that out.”

A long silence. Then Kuzan, with a tired smirk:

“You gonna scold me? Lock me in your room for sentimental treason?”

Sakazuki grunted. Not an angry grunt. More like... restrained exasperation. He briefly looked away, then cleared his throat.

“You haven’t eaten anything since this morning, you’ve slept a lot.”

Kuzan raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Are you flirting with me or trying to fatten me up?”

Sakazuki ignored the remark. He got up abruptly, grabbed a small plate from a nearby table. He came back and clumsily set down a warm bowl of fish and rice in front of him. Nothing fancy. But hot. Nourishing.

“It’s not much,” he said. “But... eat. You look... you’re too skinny.”

He stopped just in time, like he was about to say something too tender. Too obvious.

Kuzan stared at him for a moment, then gave a genuine smile.

“You’re listening to Koby’s advice now?”

Sakazuki frowned.

“Hmpf. That brat talks too much. But... not all nonsense.”

Kuzan slowly took the spoon. Ate a few bites in silence. Then set the dish aside, tired, but less hollow. He looked at Sakazuki.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say that often. Especially not to him.

Sakazuki sat down again. Silence settled between them—heavy, but not unpleasant. Then, with comic stiffness, as if facing down a Yonko, Sakazuki hesitantly wrapped an arm around Kuzan’s shoulders.

Kuzan tilted his head, like really? Now?

“Are you alright?” the older man asked. “I mean... not physically. But... in here.”

He tapped his own temple with a finger.

Kuzan replied without sarcasm, for once.

“Not yet. But... you’re here. So... I think I will be.”

Sakazuki tightened the embrace, rough in his awkwardness. Kuzan closed his eyes.

They stayed like that for a while. Wordless. The kind of silence that said more than a thousand phrases.

Then Kuzan murmured, a smile at the corner of his lips:

“If you start cuddling me every night, I might start thinking you love me.”

Sakazuki didn’t answer. He just rested his chin against his hair and sighed.

Maybe he did love him. Maybe it had been a long time.

But for now, he just held him. Alive. And that was enough.

*-*-*

Koby was staring at the ceiling of his room, arms behind his head, his heart a little heavier than earlier. The report had been delivered, Sakazuki-san had praised him—a rare thing—and Kuzan was in good hands.

But... despite everything, something still weighed on him. What he’d heard, what he’d seen in Garp’s eyes. What it had cost everyone.

He sat up slowly and grabbed the Den Den Mushi from his nightstand. He hesitated for a few seconds... then turned the dial to call.

Pururururu... pururururu... tchac.

The little snail suddenly took on the familiar features of Shanks—smiling, one eye half-closed.

“Yo! My bunny? What a surprise, calling me at this hour? You want me to come tuck you in?”

Koby let out a nervous laugh, already feeling a bit lighter.

“Hahaha... no, not that. I... I needed to talk. A bit. If you don’t mind.”

Shanks immediately became more serious, though still gentle.

“Of course not. What’s going on?”

Koby took a deep breath.

“I saw Garp. I heard... what happened at Hachinosu. And I wrote the report for Sakazuki-san. I know I probably shouldn’t have gotten so involved, but...”

He paused, throat tight.

“It was hard. Hearing all that. Imagining what Kuzan went through. What Garp did. What we lost.”

Shanks was silent for a moment. Then answered in a deep but calm voice:

“You did the right thing, Koby. You were brave. Garp wouldn’t have shared that with just anyone. And... you know, it’s normal that it weighs on you. You’re human.”

Koby nodded, even though Shanks couldn’t see it.

“I think I’m just scared to close my eyes tonight.”

“Then I’ll stay here. I won’t hang up, okay? Just in case.”

Koby smiled, touched, throat tightening.

“Thanks... Shanks.”

“Always here for my little Marine bunny. But if you snore, I’m recording it.”

“Hahaha! Promise, I’ll try to sleep quietly.”

He lay back down, the Den Den Mushi next to his pillow. Shanks hummed softly on the other end, as if he were right there beside him.

And this time, when Koby closed his eyes, it was easier to breathe.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan was slowly getting used to the searing warmth of Sakazuki — that burning, steady presence beside him. It was strange to admit, almost absurd. He, who had been frozen, numb, broken for so long, now found himself gradually thawing in the company of a man he had once fought — a man he never imagined could be comforting.
And yet, that heat… he had missed it more than he dared to admit.

Earlier, he had joked about the possibility that Sakazuki might love him. Just to stir things up, to deflect the tension. But now… he realized he might have been lying to everyone — especially to himself. He had been a hypocrite, unaware of his own feelings.
It shouldn’t feel this easy… this alive… just being near him.
Not after everything. Not after the war. The fallout. The silence.

And yet, nothing felt as grounding as that broad figure sitting beside him. Silent, but present. Just… there.

Kuzan gently wrapped his fingers around Sakazuki’s. The other man’s hand was large, warm, steady. It anchored him.

Had he always been in love with him?

Or was it just gratitude? Fragility? The fear of being left alone again?

No… There had always been something. A thread between them, even in opposition, even in rage. Something he had tried very hard to ignore.

He smiled faintly, remembering Koby’s advice. Sakazuki was following it — clumsily, like a man in unfamiliar territory. Offering a bit of food, reaching out, putting an arm around him… Nothing grand, but everything mattered.

When Kuzan had overheard them talking, his heart had skipped a beat.
He cares about me...
It wasn’t just guilt. It wasn’t pity. He had feared that, so often. In the silence of his nightmares, he had asked himself:

Is he doing this out of duty? Out of remorse? Will he leave me too, eventually?

But no.
Every time he doubted, Sakazuki was there.
A simple word. A blanket pulled up. A hand in his hair. A comfortable silence.

He was rekindling something in him. Not just the will to live.
A fire.

Kuzan wasn’t ready to call it love… but deep down, he knew.
He wasn’t just thankful. He didn’t just need support.
He needed him.
His strength, his presence, his warmth.

Sakazuki wasn’t perfect. He was rough, awkward, harsh. But he had never seemed more human than now — sitting at the edge of the bed, quietly watching over him.

And for the first time, Kuzan let himself believe that maybe…
Maybe it had always been him.
The man he had loved. Silently. For a long, long time.

*-*-*

Kuzan hadn’t revealed everything at once. Sakazuki had sensed that — and didn’t push him. He just stayed, hand in hand, quietly waiting.

Eventually, Kuzan opened up. He explained how he had fought Garp — nearly killed him — to maintain his cover within Blackbeard’s crew. When Teach had recruited him, he was at rock bottom. Normally, he would’ve refused.
But Sakazuki wasn’t there.
No one was.

He had chosen the darkest path, hoping maybe it would swallow him.

Sakazuki squeezed his hand, lowered his gaze, and muttered an apology under his breath.
Just a quiet, honest “Sorry.”

Kuzan went on, voice steadier now. It had all spiraled from there. Koby — the pink-haired pup who trailed after Garp — had been captured. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it changed everything.

Kuzan had bargained with Blackbeard: don’t hurt the kid — Garp would come. He hoped it was true. He feared what could happen, but deep down, he hadn’t wanted Garp to come. It was too dangerous.

He had planned a quiet escape, blaming a guard for Koby’s disappearance. But fate intervened — Garp did come.
And Kuzan had to fight him.
Convincingly. Brutally. To keep his cover.

He lowered his head in shame.

He knew what Blackbeard and his crew did to their prisoners. He knew what fate awaited Garp.
And he couldn’t let that happen.

Because deep down…
He still loved that stubborn old man.
He couldn’t leave him behind.

So he freed him.

Sakazuki didn’t speak. He already suspected parts of the truth. But hearing it from Kuzan made it heavier.
A relief — and a burden.

*-*-*

FLASHBACK – The Hive

Kuzan had managed to get Garp, Helmeppo, and Hibari out. A shadow mission, run through agony and instinct. He thought the trail was clean. But two vultures had been watching.

Laffitte and Van Augur had seen it — and of course, they ran straight to Blackbeard.

He had laughed. A deep, ugly laugh. Then his expression changed — sharp, icy.

“You betrayin’ me, Aokiji?”

Kuzan didn’t answer. What would be the point?

That’s when Shiryu walked in.

The room went silent.
The swordsman didn’t draw. He didn’t need to.

He stepped forward — calmly.
Then suddenly tackled Kuzan, forced him to the ground, and cuffed him.
No Haki. No ice. Just iron.

The kicks came next — hard, precise. One to the ribs. Another to the stomach. A fist to the face.

Blood splattered across the hive’s filthy floor, mixing with spit and dust.

“You really thought you could play the hero here, you frozen rat?”

Shiryu spoke while striking, perfectly calm. This was routine for him. Muscle memory from his days in Impel Down. He knew how to hurt, not kill.
He wanted to break him.

Laffitte cackled.
Van Augur just watched, eyes vacant. Dissecting the moment.

Kuzan tried to rise — but Shiryu’s boot crushed his chest.

“You better live. Teach wants a word.”

One last kick — to the jaw.
Then, darkness.

*-*-*

Kuzan jolted, breathing hard. For a moment, he forgot where he was.
His heart thundered. Sweat dampened his skin.
It took several seconds to realize — he wasn’t in the Hive anymore.

He wasn’t in Shiryu’s grasp.

He was warm.
He was safe.

A heavy blanket lay over him.
And from his right… a comforting heat.

“Still trapped in that nightmare?” came Sakazuki’s low voice.

He was sitting on the bed’s edge, no longer in his admiral coat. Just a dark shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. His eyes, stern yet heavy with tension, were focused on him.

Kuzan looked away.
“Yeah... memories.”

Sakazuki stared for a moment — then leaned in, slowly.
And pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to fight anymore. Not here.”

Kuzan froze. His brain stalled.
His heart — already racing — skipped hard for a different reason.

“Tch… idiot,” he muttered, blushing slightly. “You trying to give me a damn heart attack?”

Sakazuki turned away, jaw tight, clearly flustered.

“Koby told me to try… that kind of thing. Physical contact. Said it helps.”

Kuzan stifled a laugh, but a quiet smile tugged at his lips.

“Koby, huh? That kid’s gonna be a therapist someday.”

Silence followed — but it wasn’t awkward. Just… delicate.

Sakazuki cleared his throat, then slid under the blanket, lying down beside him. He didn’t touch him right away, but his presence was enough.
The heat between them filled the space.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “You can. I’ve got you.”

Kuzan exhaled, eyes closing.
“Thanks…”

The silence settled once again — calm, deep.

And this time, he drifted off
without a nightmare.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

FLASHBACK – The cell

The floor was cold. Sticky. There was a smell of dried blood, urine, and rusty metal. A sticky liquid had dried on Kuzan’s cheek, just below the eye. He didn’t even know if it was his own.

He wasn’t trembling anymore. Not even.

He stayed there, back against the stone, in silence. The fist against the temple. Far away. Very far.

A new burn appeared on his chest, just under the clavicle. A crushed cigarette. One more mark.

Kuzan didn’t scream. He didn’t even jump.

Blackbeard, standing in front of him, stretched his wrists, a twisted rictus clinging to the lips.

"What did you think, huh, Aokiji? That you were one of us? That you could play in the monsters' court without becoming one of them?"

His voice was clammy, oozing with sarcasm and undigested power.

"I told you that I wanted to talk with you. And that’s what we’re doing here. A real conversation between men."

Kuzan did not answer. His eyes were open, but he was not looking. His mind was locked away elsewhere, barricaded. Untouchable.

A sharp laugh rose from the shadows.

Shiryu, leaning against the wall two meters away, observed the scene. Nonchalant. A half-drawn blade on his lap. He seemed to enjoy the show.

"You trained him well, hold... not even a moan. Impressive."

Kuzan lowered his eyes a little. He didn’t want to offer them more than what they had already taken.

"You’re just an empty ice cube. Do you think that because you say nothing, you’re strong? Huh?" breathed Blackbeard, approaching again, his shadow falling on Kuzan’s face. "You don’t want to talk? You don’t want to beg? Not cry? Very well. We’ll see if you stay that calm for a long time.

Another cigarette lit up. The end glowed red in the darkness.

Kuzan felt the heat slowly approaching his arm. He did not move. He gave nothing.

But his flesh, it, writhed. A new trace, a new burn, against its icy skin.

"You can’t put out a fire by being colder than him," muttered Shiryu in an almost amused sigh.

The blood flowed from his split lip, his shattered arch, his flanks swollen by the blows. His breath was short. But he still held on. Like a cracked but standing statue.

The "discussion" with Blackbeard had lasted a long time.

Too long.

And when finally he walked away, satisfied, something in Kuzan had definitively gone out.

He remained there, naked in the humidity of the cell, staring at the emptiness, the dried blood at the corner of his mouth, the burns forming grotesque constellations on his chest.

Shiryu approached. He looked at him for a long time, without a word. Then, in a low voice:

"You didn’t say anything. You did nothing. That’s what scares me about you."

He dropped a bottle of water near him. Just for fun, or out of morbid curiosity.

And then, the silence.

*-*-*

The air seemed charged with a pungent odor of sweat, dried blood, and cold metal. The walls oozed humiliation and pain. Kuzan was there, folded in on himself, his eyes half-closed, his body bruised by the blows, the red marks still fresh on his arms, his sides. Small burns, black and red scars, sprinkled his skin, burning memories of cigarettes pressed against him mercilessly.

Blackbeard entered, imposing, a cruel smile on his lips.

"So, my little doll, ready for our little conversation of the day?" he said, his voice heavy with threat and contempt.

Kuzan did not answer. He stared at the ground, too tired, too broken.

The tyrant approached, grabbed a lock of Kuzan’s hair and pulled it gently, forcing him to look up.

"Look at me, princess. You are no longer that great man. You are nothing here anymore, nothing but what I decide."

Next to it, Shiryu watched, silent, almost savoring the scene. His hard eyes did not leave Kuzan, like a ruthless judge.

Barbe Noire was amused to touch Kuzan’s face, his fingers tracing lines on the bruised skin, almost possessive.

"You will learn your place," he murmured. "You will become who you really are, what you hide so well."

Kuzan’s gaze darkened, but his body remained motionless, submissive. He was locked in, but above all a prisoner of this humiliation.

Time seemed suspended. Blackbeard lit a cigarette, the smoke surrounded his words like poison.

He approached, the flame caressing Kuzan’s skin. He grimaced, a silent scream escaping from his lips. Black Beard burst out laughing.

"You see? I decide everything. You drink when I allow it, you eat when I want it. You endure, you cry in silence."

Later, words became blows, domination a slow and cruel torture. Blackbeard was playing with his power, transforming Kuzan into what he wanted, denying him any dignity, any humanity.

The worst part was that in this chaos, Shiryu remained there, cold and implacable, spectator and accomplice, letting go without a word.

The broken body, the mind at the end, Kuzan gradually sank into a glacial resignation. There was no more struggle. No more hope.

Just this voice on his back, which kept coming back:

"You are mine. And you will learn to love me, one way or another."

*-*-*

The air saturated with moisture and despair weighed heavily on the small cell. Kuzan remained motionless, his back against the rough wall, his body marked with fine and pale scars on the chest—indelible traces of an intimate struggle, of a complicated identity that no one here wanted to respect.

His pectorals, carved but notched, spoke of a much deeper battle than the one fought against his enemies. At the bottom, the discreet veil of a femininity that Blackbeard took a cunning pleasure to grind, constantly reminding him of his vulnerability.

Blackbeard entered with a cruel smile, dominating the space like a king in his lair.

"Look at you, my beautiful princess..." he chuckled, grabbing a lock of fine hair. "Do you think you can hide who you really are?"

Kuzan’s gaze, cold and distant, did not leave the ground. He knew that this game led to nothing but more humiliation.

"Here," Blackbeard continued, his voice a venomous whisper, "you are no longer that icy man, that fighter. You are my doll, to whom I hardly give a little water, a little bread.

A cigarette was lit, the dancing flame cast an unhealthy glow on his face, while the incandescent tip brushed against Kuzan’s fragile skin. The fire licked an already painful scar, and Kuzan bit his lip, muffling a moan.

Shiryu, silent spectator, stood in the shadows, observing with a mixture of contempt and indifference as always, letting Blackbeard do his work without intervening.

"You will learn," whispered Blackbeard, "that your scars don’t protect you. That your weakness is a spectacle that I am going to relish exposing.

The torture continued, domination was exercised in heavy silences, controlled gestures, refusals of food and water, contempt displayed. Kuzan, resigned, felt his body and soul slowly breaking under the weight of this confinement.

But Blackbeard was not content with breaking the body: he wanted to shape, reduce, transform. With sharp words, humiliating gestures, he treated him as a fragile woman, a trophy. Kuzan’s femininity became a weapon in this cruel game, a lever of domination.

In the half-light, Blackbeard’s breath became closer, his touch more heavy. What was supposed to be a "discussion" degenerated into a silent and violent act—suggested, never named, but in the shadow of the cell, each glance, each shiver spoke volumes.

Kuzan closed his eyes, sinking into a frozen resignation, disconnected from the world, where only remained the muffled echo of this sentence that echoed in his broken mind:

"You are mine. And whether you like it or not, you will learn to love me woman."

*-*-*

In the half-light of his cell, Kuzan was motionless, his body bruised, his mind barely conscious. He had learned to master this appearance of death, to freeze his features, to breathe only weakly. He had understood that it was the only way not to endure more. A fragile simulacrum, a fragile bubble where the pain could fade for a moment.

It was by pure luck that the door opened one day. A kid, probably a young pirate still naive and inexperienced, entered with an unsecured tray, eyes lowered, innocence engraved on the face. Kuzan, without a breath, watched every movement.

When the young man approached to drop off the meager pittance, Kuzan seized the moment. With a quick, almost imperceptible movement, he grabbed the keys hanging from the pirate’s belt. A sharp and precise blow hit the child’s neck which collapsed without a cry.

The silence fell again.

Kuzan’s breath was heavy, his head spun, but the adrenaline made his numb muscles vibrate. He slowly pulled the chains that hindered his wrists, lifting the rusty rings with a force he no longer knew himself.

Liberated, he leaned against the wall, gathering the last forces that remained to him. The path to freedom was still long, but this moment was his first breath of hope.

He stepped out of the cell, avoiding patrols, crawling, hiding in the shadows, until he found a way to escape the hell of the Hive. He had survived everything—pain, humiliation, abandonment.

And finally, he reached Marineford, where Sakazuki was waiting for him, ready to save him.

The cold key in his hand trembling, Kuzan held his breath as the heavy silence of the hive seemed to engulf him. Every noise, every crunch echoed in his head like an alarm. He slipped the chains carefully, releasing himself slowly. His numbed muscles protested, but the fear of being noticed gave him a new energy.

He stood up, staggering, the body covered with bruises, burns and scars barely closed. His eyes searched frantically for an exit, a dark corridor, a place to disappear.

Around the corner of a corridor, he heard voices. Cruel laughter, heavy footsteps. Without hesitation, he slipped into a shadow, clutching the key like a lifeline. His heart was pounding, every breath was a challenge.

He sometimes crawled, moving on all fours, avoiding the rays of light, the rounds of the guards. His breath was short, his dry throat screamed his thirst and hunger, but he could not stop.

Then, a door ajar, a staircase. He slowly climbs the steps, a sharp pain crossing his weak legs. Each step was a victory over his own weakness.

In a final effort, he reached the upper deck, fresh air whipping his face. The sea was there, immense, free, it seemed to promise him an escape.

He jumped, his body shivering, the icy water enveloping him. The salty taste burned his mouth, but he swam, each movement bringing him a little closer to freedom.

When he finally touched the ground at Marineford, his forces almost abandoned him. But a familiar figure, reaching out.

Sakazuki.

*-*-*

It was 3:46 in the morning.

The silence of the chamber was scarcely disturbed by the distant noise of the waves against the dykes of Marineford. The moon filtered through the half-open curtains, drawing pale lines on the wrinkled sheets.

Kuzan had woken with a start, short of breath, soaked in sweat. The words had come out at once, halfway between a feverish whisper and a hurried confession. Everything. What he had endured. What he had seen. What he had undergone.

And Sakazuki had been there.

He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t stepped back, hadn’t judged. He had simply taken her hand, his broad and rough fingers wrapping around his own, and murmured in a surprisingly soft voice: "Everything is fine now. I am here.

Kuzan had trouble believing those words, but with her hand in hers... she was very real.

And then there was this kiss.

A light touch, almost hesitant, but charged with an unexpected warmth. Kuzan’s breath had cut into his throat. It was not a hasty attempt, nor a response to sexual tension. It was a tender gesture. A hand extended in the dark.

They had both blushed, one surprised, the other ashamed. But it hadn’t broken the moment.

Sakazuki, without looking at him, had slipped to his voice: "Let me help you feel better."

Not a promise. Not an obligation.

An offering.

And Kuzan, still shaken, but wrapped in that strange peace that only the presence of Sakazuki seemed to offer him, had simply nodded.

There were no more uniforms, no more wars, no more hierarchies. Just two men, each haunted in their own way, looking for a way to stand. Together.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

The light of dawn filtered shyly through the curtains. Marineford was still peaceful, frozen in the silence of the in-between. On the bed, Kuzan was sleeping, his brows furrowed, as if he was still struggling in his dreams.

Sakazuki was sitting next to him, chest bent, a hand resting on Kuzan’s. He knew that he would have to leave in a few minutes. And this idea, as necessary as it was, left him with a bitter taste.

He gently brushed Kuzan’s fingers. The touch made him move, which opened his eyes, still hazy.

"You’re leaving," he murmured, in a hoarse voice.

"Just for a few hours," replied Sakazuki, low, almost embarrassed. "A meeting. Nothing urgent for you. But important. To... what will come next.

Kuzan slowly turned his head towards him. He didn’t have the strength to protest, but his eyes spoke for him. A dull fear. Not panic, no. But that of being abandoned again.

Sakazuki squeezed his hand a little harder.

"I’ll be back. I promise you. Can you hear me?"

Kuzan slowly nodded.

"Koby and Hibari will be there. They know. You can trust them."

"I prefer you," Kuzan muttered.

Sakazuki sketched a very slight smile, rare and almost shy.

"I prefer you too, idiot. I’ll be back soon."

He leaned in and, without hesitation this time, placed a kiss on his forehead. Kuzan closed his eyes, his hand briefly squeezing hers, before falling back on the sheets.

*-*-*

A large, clean, sober and austere room. The walls were lined with files, maps, reports. On the central table, recording crystals and a golden escargophone, connected to the HQ around the world.

Sakazuki entered, shoulders straight, looking serious.

Around him, several vice-admirals and members of the Council of Strategists were already waiting for him. Some stood up. Others whispered among themselves when they saw him.

"Gentlemen," he said in a sharp tone. "Let’s start."

The main topic was hot: the official status of Kuzan.

Was he a threat? A double agent? Should he be prosecuted, interned, or... reintegrated?

Sakazuki placed his hands flat on the table.

"He is not a traitor. He saved Monkey D. Garp. He survived Blackbeard. He is recovering."

A vice-admiral whistled between his teeth:

"And if he plays this card again later? And if he betrays us again? He knows all our codes..."

"He also knows all their. And he hates them much more than he blames us," Sakazuki said coldly.

A silence. Heavy tension.

"I will take the responsibility," he concludes. "Give him time. And space. He deserves at least that."

No one dared to contradict the Chief Admiral. But in the shadows, several looks exchanged doubts. Concerns.

*-*-*

"Do you want some tea?" proposed Hibari, placing a tray with a steaming teapot and some dry biscuits.

Kuzan looked up from the armchair in which he was nestled, a plaid on his lap. He looked groggy, still a little lost.

"I can try to drink some... if it’s not poison."

Koby sketched a nervous laugh.

"Promise. It’s just tea. We even checked twice."

Hibari settled across the street, crossing his arms.

"Sakazuki-san will be back soon, you know. He told us to stay with you. Not to leave you alone."

Kuzan looked away for a moment. It was strange to be mothered by two kids... but their attention was real. Not forced. Not pity.

Koby, a little hesitant, approached and placed a hand on his arm.

"If you want... to talk. Or just stay quiet. We can. We are here."

Kuzan gently nodded, then turned his eyes towards the window.

"Tell me about yourself. Not about me. I’ve heard enough of my own story."

Hibari smiles softly.

"Then you will know everything about the nonsense that Koby made during the mission last week."

"Hey!"

And for the first time in days, Kuzan had a smile. Small, trembling... but a real smile.

*-*-*

"And there, I swear to you, he looked me straight in the eyes and he told me Hibari, do you want to steal my rice ration again or do you want to steal my heart?"

Hibari burst out laughing, her cheeks rosy with emotion, sitting on the edge of Kuzan’s bed. She held in her hands an empty cup, forgotten for five good minutes, too busy recounting her last discussion with Helmeppo.

"He’s bad at metaphors," she replied, "but... damn it, I think I’m fucked. Completely stiff of that stupid blonde."

Kuzan barely smiled, cheek pressed against his hand. He listened, in silence. He didn’t understand why it affected him so much to hear that. Maybe because she spoke with so much candor. Of innocence.

It was sweet. Just... sweet.

But suddenly, his stomach contracted violently.

He furrowed his brows. A bitter cold rose up along his spine. He felt a ball forming in the hollow of his belly, as if squeezed from inside.

"Hm..."

"Kuzan? How are you?"

He did not answer. He suddenly leaned forward, a hand against his mouth.

Koby, who was storing a stack of files in the corner, turned around just in time to see him suddenly vomiting in the tub next to the bed.

"Damn it! Hibari!"

"I’m here!"

Hibari leapt beside him, holding his shoulders as he continued to vomit, gasping for breath, tears in his eyes at the effort. Yellow and bitter liquid was coming out of his throat, shaking all his body.

Koby was already on the escargophone:

"NURSE! EMERGENCY ROOM 3-B! IT’S HIM—KUZAN! HURRY!

"It’s going to be okay," murmured Hibari, panicked, caressing his back. It’s nothing. "It’s surely nervous. Or the pain... or maybe fatigue... stay with us, Kuzan, stay there...

But Kuzan’s gaze was empty. Absent.

He was in pain. Not just physically. Something in him was twisting. An ancient echo. A deep trauma.

He wasn’t crying.

But he was cold.

And he just... wanted Sakazuki back.

*-*-*

Headquarters, West Room. 13:57.

Sakazuki, leaning over a strategic file, frowned. His temples pulped. He was sleeping little lately. Since Kuzan had returned. Since he watched over him like protecting an ember in the wind.

The escargophone vibrates.
A coded call from the infirmary.

He picked up without thinking.

"Admiral in chief? It’s Dr. Rin. I’m sorry to bother you, but... Kuzan had a fainting spell. It’s serious. We transferred him here urgently."

The world split into two. The file fell from his hands.

"I’m coming."

He crossed the corridors with great strides, an overwhelming aura surrounding him like a tide. Even the soldiers on duty lowered their eyes as he passed.

In front of the door of the infirmary, Koby and Hibari waited, panicked. Koby’s face was pale as death. Hibari, pale, writhed nervously.

Sakazuki stopped short. He stared at Koby, his eyes red with tension.

"What happened?"

"I-I don’t know... he was fine... then he had nausea, he vomited, he trembled... we took him immediately..."

Sakazuki approached slowly. Very slowly.

"If it’s because you said a dirty word to him... or made him feel guilty... I swear, Koby... I’ll bury you in the ground."

Koby stiffened. He didn’t dare to answer. He didn’t cry either. He just shook his head.

Sakazuki looked at him for a few more seconds, then entered the infirmary without another word.

*-*-*

The doctor was waiting for him. He immediately saw in his face that something was wrong.

"What?" said Sakazuki dryly. "What’s wrong with him?"

Dr. Rin glanced nervously towards the room, then returned to him.

"He didn’t just vomit... We had a scan. He has intense hormonal fluctuations, symptoms that we did not understand. We checked three times.

"Talk."

"Kuzan is pregnant."

…

A freezing silence. As if the whole room had frozen around this sentence.

"Repeat," he said simply.

"It is ence—"

"I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP."

"He’s pregnant, Admiral."

Sakazuki took a step back. He wasn’t breathing anymore. He clenched his teeth, his fist cracked.

He knew.

He knew immediately.

No need to make a drawing.

Blackbeard.

This bastard had dared. He had... He had soiled Kuzan. He had put something of himself inside him. A dirt. A poison.

Sakazuki could have blown up Marineford at that moment. Anger pulsated in his veins like lava. But he just clenched his jaws until he hurt himself. He turned his heels and entered the room.

*-*-*

Kuzan was awake. Still weak. Eyes half-closed, but conscious.

He saw Sakazuki enter and tried to straighten up. He saw his gaze. He understood that the truth had emerged.

Sakazuki sat on the edge of the bed without a word.

Long silence. Then, finally, he says:

"It’s Blackbeard, right?"

Kuzan looked away. He didn’t answer.

But his silence spoke for him.

Sakazuki inspired for a long time. Then, in a lower voice:

"Are you going to keep it?"

A heartbeat.
Then another one.

Kuzan hesitated.

"I don’t know yet... I’m lost. I’m afraid... Afraid of what it reminds me of. Afraid of what it means..."

Sakazuki tilted his head.

He gently placed his hand on hers. He was not abrupt. Not this time.

"If you decide to keep it... I will tell everyone that I am the father."

Kuzan stared at him, stunned. Tears came to his eyes without him realizing it.

"Would you do that?"

"I love you," muttered Sakazuki, her eyes in hers. "I don’t let you handle this alone. Not yet. Not after everything you’ve been through."

"You would even like me with... that? Even if I keep it?"

"It’s not him that I see when I look at you. It’s you. You. And I will stay, no matter what you choose."

Kuzan lowered his eyes. A sob escaped him despite himself. He squeezed his hand tighter.

"I’m scared,". he murmured. "So scared..."

Sakazuki approached slowly, and kissed his forehead.

"You no longer have to be afraid. I am here. And this time, I stay."

*-*-*

Sakazuki pushed open the door of his private apartments, a hand under Kuzan’s shoulder to help him walk.

He didn’t want to leave him alone, not in an impersonal infirmary room. Not after what he had learned. Not after what he had just told her.

Kuzan, still a bit pale, did not protest. His hand remained attached to that of Sakazuki, almost without realizing it.

He slowly settled on the bed, while Sakazuki pulled the curtains and placed a glass of water on the nightstand.

A silence settled. It was not unpleasant.

Then... a discreet voice, barely contained:

"Uh... Admiral?"

Sakazuki stiffened. He turned around completely.

In the hallway, Hibari, Helmeppo and Koby stood a little further away, half embarrassed, half terrified. They had clearly heard.

Hibari, the red cheeks, played with a lock of hair. Koby avoided the Admiral’s gaze as if his shoes were the most fascinating thing in the world. Helmeppo held back a nervous laugh.

Sakazuki grumbled, blushing despite himself:

"How much did you hear?"

"The part where you said... that you were going to say that you were the father..." mumbled Koby.

"And that you... that you love him," added Hibari very quickly, before placing a hand on his mouth.

Sakazuki straightened up, with a black look, his jaw clenched.

Kuzan, on the bed, had turned his head towards them with a look of "kill me now". He was red to the roots of his hair.

"You say a word about this, a single word, to anyone, I bury you under the HQ," Sakazuki grumbled, his face hard... but his ears red.

"H-hai!" made the three young people in chorus, stiff as pegs.

There was silence.

Then Kuzan, still red, murmured:

"You’re really not good at grand declarations."

Sakazuki glanced at him. Kuzan sketched a tiny smile, his eyes shining with an emotion difficult to name.

"It’s not me who remained silent like an oyster afterwards," retorted Sakazuki, a little too quickly.

"I was in the process of crying internally, fool..."

"I am your hierarchical superior, do you really want to call me an idiot?"

"You said you loved me. You lost all authority."

A silence.

Then a clumsy coughing in the hallway. The three young people were still there, frozen.

Sakazuki turned to them again:

"Outside. And if I hear a single word out of place, I will make you brick the port floor on your knees."

"HAI!" they did by disappearing as quickly as possible.

The door closed again.

Kuzan gently burst out laughing, shaken but sincere. He pulled the blanket over his legs and sighed, still trembling.

Sakazuki, standing, looked at him for a long time. Then approached, and sat down next to him on the bed.

"Do you want to sleep a little?"

"Yeah."

"I’m staying."

"I know."

He leaned in, this time without hesitation, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Then he blew, like a promise:

"No one will touch you anymore. I swear to you."

Kuzan closed his eyes, his hand seeking that of Sakazuki.

And for the first time in a long time... he felt a beginning of peace.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

The Fleet Admiral’s office was shrouded in shadows, lit only by the flickering glow of a black Den Den Mushi resting on the heavy wood of the desk. The curtains were drawn, the doors double-locked. No unwanted ears could hear what was about to be said.

Sakazuki, arms crossed, glared at the receiver like it was a snake. Then, without hesitation, he pressed the call button. The Den Den Mushi clicked several times, its shell slowly morphing into the rough, arrogant face of a well-known contact.

A deep, drawling voice answered after a few seconds:

"Well, well. The Government’s dog. What do you want, Sakazuki?"

Sakazuki didn’t waste a second.

"A job. A hunt."

A mocking laugh crackled through the snail.

"I run an empire of assassins and bounty hunters, not an intel service. You want something? Pay up."

"I’ve got a name. Just one. And a target you and Mihawk should be very interested in seeing fall."

"Interesting."

Silence stretched for a moment before Sakazuki dropped it like a blade:

"Blackbeard."

This time, no laughter. The silence grew heavier. The Den Den Mushi blinked slowly. Crocodile didn’t reply right away.

"You want him captured or dead?"

"I want his head. Dragged out of his den like a dog. Alive or dead, I don’t care. But if he’s alive, he shouldn’t ever be able to lift a hand against anyone again."

Crocodile exhaled slowly, thoughtful.

"What’s the payment? Marines aren’t exactly handing out gold bars."

"I can offer you immunity on certain islands. 'Ignored' shipping corridors, protected trade routes for six months… and a direct transfer from a black fund that doesn’t officially exist."

"You want me to believe you would divert World Government resources for me?"

"I want him dead, Crocodile. And you want to be left alone. We can make a deal."

The Den Den Mushi remained quiet. Then Crocodile laughed—softly this time, almost satisfied.

"I’ll admit, your hatred is convincing. You’ve changed, Akainu. Not like you to talk like this… even to me."

Sakazuki clenched his fists.

"He touched someone who’s mine."

A thicker silence followed. Crocodile didn’t press.

"I’ll talk to Mihawk. And that clown Buggy, even if he’s mostly for show. If he can be located—if there’s a trace—we’ll move."

"Don’t send me promises. Send me remains."

"You’re a monster, Akainu. But on this… we’re two of a kind."

Click.

The line went dead.

Sakazuki remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the Den Den Mushi, which slowly resumed its neutral form. His face was a mask, but a vein throbbed in his temple. He clenched his jaw.

Blackbeard would pay.

Whatever the cost.

---

The sun was rising gently over Marineford, casting a golden glow down the halls of the Fleet Admiral’s private quarters. The bedroom curtains were half-drawn, letting light spill across the light blanket draped over the bed.

Kuzan lay on his side, still pale, but his eyes were open. He stared absently at the ceiling, one arm tucked under his head. A thin red line still marked his collarbone, an old burn scar. But his breathing was steady.

A hand offered him a glass of water.

"Drink a bit," Sakazuki said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Kuzan groaned but obeyed. He took a sip, grimaced.

"It’s lukewarm," he muttered.

"It’s supposed to be. You’re still having trouble digesting, idiot."

"Tch… you spent your life calling me an ice block. Now you’re my nurse? This is hell."

Sakazuki didn’t reply. He just looked at him, steadily. His features were less tense now. Less shadowed. But the fatigue lingered—deep, anchored.

"Did you sleep?" he finally asked.

"A little. Fewer nightmares last night. You were there… it helps."

A pause.

Sakazuki looked toward the window.

"I canceled two meetings this morning."

Kuzan raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Who are you, and what did you do with Fleet Admiral Akainu?"

"He’ll be back tomorrow. Today, I’m just… here."

Kuzan let out a faint laugh. Then sighed, weary.

"I hate this."

"What?"

"Being weak. Being looked at like this. Even you, when you look at me… I know you’re trying not to show it, but you look like I’ll break."

Sakazuki clenched his jaw.

He didn’t deny it.

But he said, quietly:

"Because I’m terrified that you will."

Kuzan slowly turned his head toward him. His gaze was bare, for once. Not distant. Not sarcastic.

"I’m still here, Akainu."

"Sakazuki."

A beat.

Kuzan lowered his eyes slightly.

"Sakazuki."

He tested the name. Gently. As if weighing it on his tongue.

Then, even softer:

"Thank you… for being here."

Sakazuki looked away again, flustered. He cleared his throat like he was trying to shake off rising emotion.

"You should eat something."

"You’re changing the subject."

"Aren’t you hungry?"

"Maybe."

A faint smile touched his lips. There was still a long road ahead. But today, they were here. Together. In a quiet morning.

And nothing was more precious.

---

The light was soft. Time felt suspended in Sakazuki’s quarters. On the table, steam rose from a forgotten cup of tea.

Kuzan had been silent for long minutes, sitting on the couch, a blanket over his legs. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the fabric. His eyes were fixed on a vague spot in the room.

Sakazuki, on the other side of the table, waited. He knew something was coming. He said nothing. Didn’t push. He waited. Because he’d learned forcing Kuzan to speak only sealed his silence tighter.

Finally, Kuzan breathed in.

"I’ve been thinking…"

The voice was calm. Hesitant, but calm.

"I’m going to keep it."

A beat. The silence thickened. Sakazuki looked up.

Kuzan still wasn’t meeting his gaze. He went on, quietly:

"I’m scared. So scared. But I refuse to let that monster keep deciding what I do with my life. What he left me with… it hurts, yeah. But I want it to mean something."

He slowly turned his eyes to Sakazuki. A tired, but resolute look.

"I don’t know what kind of parent I’ll be. I only know one thing."

He swallowed hard.

"To me… the only father this child will ever know, if I keep it… will be you."

Sakazuki let out a silent gasp. He hadn’t expected that. He opened his mouth, closed it again, words failing him. A faint blush colored his cheeks.

Kuzan lowered his eyes, embarrassed.

"Obviously… if you don’t want that, I get it. You don’t have to—"

"Did you even listen to me earlier?"

Sakazuki’s voice was soft, but firm.

Kuzan looked up.

"I’m here. I’m staying. And if you want us to raise this child together… then it’s mine. End of story."

A silence. Heavy. Charged.

Then Sakazuki, a little awkwardly, leaned over and placed his large hand over Kuzan’s.

"You’re not alone," he murmured. "Not anymore."

Kuzan felt his throat tighten. He looked down. No tears came this time—just a new warmth, fragile but real.

A choice had been made. And this time… it was his.

---

Calm had returned. A fragile, comforting calm.

Kuzan and Sakazuki sat beside each other on the couch, saying nothing for a while. The silence wasn’t heavy. Just… awkward.

Sakazuki cleared his throat.

"Did you… eat well earlier?"

Kuzan turned his head toward him, amusement in his eyes.

"You’re seriously asking if I ate well, after everything we just said?"

"I’m trying to make conversation," Sakazuki grumbled, embarrassed. "Not my strong suit, okay?"

Kuzan smiled. He couldn’t believe seeing him like this… so awkward. He’d seen Sakazuki order bombardments with more confidence than this attempt at small talk.

"You know… you could also say what you feel," he said softly.

"I said I’d be here, didn’t I? That’s already a lot for me."

"Yeah. But how you feel… about me. Not just the baby."

Sakazuki froze.

His eyes fixed on a point on the floor, then slowly moved to their interlaced fingers on the couch. He still had Kuzan’s hand in his.

He took a long breath.

"I’m not good at this. You know that."

"I know."

"I don’t know how to say it without sounding like an idiot."

"Too late. You already do."

Sakazuki raised an eyebrow, then shook his head with a sigh. Then, quietly:

"I love you, idiot."

Kuzan felt his heart skip a beat. He blinked, lips slightly parted.

Sakazuki immediately fixed his gaze on the wall like it was the only escape left in the world.

"There. I said it. It’s messy, but I said it."

"You love me."

"Do I have to repeat it?"

"No… it’s just… did you really just say that? Sakazuki the Fleet Admiral? The guy who could shake a continent? That guy?"

"You’re going to bring this up every time, aren’t you?"

Kuzan shook his head with a soft laugh, then rested his forehead against Sakazuki’s shoulder.

"You’re an idiot."

"Will you hate me if I kiss you?"

"You gonna ask every time or…?"

Sakazuki leaned in. Slowly. Carefully. There was no rush, no force. Just that touching hesitation, that obvious respect.

Their lips brushed first. Then again, a bit more confidently. It was gentle. Warm. An awkward kiss, a little shaky… but sincere.

Kuzan closed his eyes.

There was no fear now. No past. Just this. This moment.

When they parted, he stayed close to Sakazuki, forehead to forehead, eyes half-closed.

"I love you too," he murmured, barely audible.

Sakazuki didn’t reply. But his arm wrapped around him. Held him close, tightly, as if afraid he’d vanish.

They stayed like that, for a long time.

Two men broken by war. By the world.
But who had finally found a bit of peace. At last.

---

Chapter Text

The strategic room’s lighting gave it a hushed, almost intimate atmosphere. Far from the usual chaos of the Cross Guild, this room — with its luxurious carpets, deep sofas, and heavy curtains — was the sanctuary for serious conversations… and sometimes, private bickering.

Seated in a large leather armchair, legs crossed, Crocodile rolled a cigar between his fingers without lighting it. A faint smirk curved his usually impassive mouth.

Mihawk leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, his gaze lost in the distant waves. His silence wasn’t from disinterest, but a kind of calm contemplation. He was never talkative — except with those he tolerated.

And on the couch, half-sunken into the luxury he barely seemed to notice, Buggy was swinging his legs like an impatient child.

"Seriously, Croccy-baby, you could AT LEAST say you trust us with the plan, huh!" whined Buggy, drumming his fingers on the armrest. "I mean, you might be the brain, but I’ve got one too! … Okay, maybe it’s on vacation sometimes, but still!"

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, vaguely amused. "Buggy… You asked me this morning if ‘Mercenary’ was spelled with a ‘Z’."

"That was a JOKE!" Buggy protested, outraged. "And for your information, Mihawk said your plan had flaws too!"

The man in question didn’t even look up, his deep voice falling like a slicing blade.

"I said you had flaws. Not the plan."

Buggy turned to him, arms crossed, sulking.

"Oh yeah? Well I love you anyway, Hawky-dear, even if you’ve got a tongue like a razor."

Mihawk sighed.

Crocodile let out a low chuckle. He finally placed his cigar on the edge of the table and sat up.

"We don’t have the luxury of hesitation. Sakazuki contacted us. He wants Blackbeard’s head… and he’s willing to pay handsomely for it."

Buggy immediately sat up, looking more serious.

"Wait. When you say ‘pay’… like, money? Weapons? A tropical island with a personal jacuzzi?"

Crocodile ignored him, continuing:

"This is a rare opportunity. All we need is reliable information. Fast."

Buggy smiled, a little proud of himself this time.

"Well, I might have a lead."

Mihawk turned his head toward him.

Buggy puffed out his chest.

"I contacted Shanks. He said he’d be willing to ally up… temporarily. Just long enough to bring down Teach."

Silence followed.

Then Crocodile burst out laughing — rare, rough, almost mocking.

"Your ex? You want to team up with him?"

"HEY! He’s not an ex… I mean yes, but not really… It’s complicated, okay!" said Buggy, blushing slightly. "And it’s not about love, it’s purely strategic!"

Mihawk gave a barely perceptible smile.

"Hm. Strangely, I believe you."

Buggy looked at both of them, then, in a gesture of fake outrage, stood up, crossed his arms, and declared dramatically:

"You know what? I love you both, but you’re the WORST boyfriends ever!"

Crocodile and Mihawk exchanged a knowing glance.

"And yet…" murmured Crocodile, walking slowly toward him.

"…you stay," concluded Mihawk.

Buggy stared at them. A small shiver ran down his spine, a mix of nervousness and contentment.

Then he raised his hands dramatically:

"Alright, alright. But tonight, I get to be in the middle of the bed. Non-negotiable!"

Mihawk rolled his eyes.

Crocodile finally lit his cigar.

The trio laughed — each in their own way.

And somewhere, in the turmoil of the world, three of the most dangerous figures in piracy shared a moment of bittersweet complicity, before diving back into chaos.

---

The Cross Guild’s command room had nothing to envy from the World Government’s military HQs. Massive maps of the New World covered the walls, peppered with colored pins. Transponder snails crackled intermittently with encrypted communications. And in the center, three figures dominated the space — as atypical as they were effective.

Crocodile slowly walked in front of a map marked with several black Xs.

Mihawk, silent, watched from the back of the room, arms crossed, gaze sharp as his blades.

Buggy was tapping nervously on his personal transponder snail, which he never let out of his sight. He had just had a conversation that changed everything.

"Well?" Crocodile asked, fixing him with a stare.

Buggy straightened up, visibly excited.

"He agreed."

Silence.

Then Mihawk asked in a low voice:

"Are you sure he’s not stringing you along?"

Buggy shook his head, unusually serious.

"Shanks is an idiot in his own way, but he never lies when it comes to that guy."

Crocodile frowned.

"And what did he ask in exchange?"

"Nothing," Buggy replied. "Just that we keep the alliance secret until the last moment. He wants to hit Teach without giving him a second to react."

Mihawk slowly nodded.

"Tactical."

"But that’s not all," Buggy added, tapping a file on the table. "He sent me a crucial tip. An old pirate port at Hachinosu has been reactivated. That’s where Blackbeard’s been gathering forces for the last few weeks."

Crocodile leaned in and examined the marked spot.

"Too exposed for a main base… but discreet enough for a secondary hideout. He’s preparing something."

Buggy pointed to another spot, farther east.

"And here. A ghost Marine base. Abandoned since the God Valley incident. Shanks saw some strange activity. Unmarked cargo ships, echoes of weird laughter."

Mihawk stepped closer.

"He’s moving his resources. He knows we’ll hunt him."

Crocodile smiled.

"Good. Let him. Makes him less unpredictable."

Buggy raised a finger:

"And uh… just saying… if we do catch him, are we keeping the money for ourselves or sharing with the Marines?"

Crocodile completely ignored him.

Mihawk sighed.

"We’re talking about the head of one of the cruelest Emperors in the New World. Not a tavern bounty."

Buggy pouted.

"Yeah, but it’d be great for the cookie fund. We’re out of sweets in the pantry."

Crocodile growled, then snapped:

"We catch Blackbeard. Then we’ll see. Priority is making sure he dies."

Buggy and Mihawk nodded.

Then Crocodile signaled for an assistant to approach. He pulled a small crystal from his pocket — a delayed transmission recording device, bearing the Marine insignia.

"Prepare the encoded message. Sakazuki is waiting for our reply."

Buggy raised an eyebrow.

"You trust him?"

Crocodile didn’t answer immediately. He turned the crystal between his fingers, then murmured, almost thoughtfully:

"Not trust. But I trust his hatred for Teach. And his pride."

Mihawk nodded.

"That will be enough."

---

The sun slowly dipped below the Cross Guild’s hideout, casting orange light through the opaque windows of their HQ. The bustle of the command room had quieted. Maps were rolled up, reports stacked, transponder snails asleep.

In a nearby, far more intimate room, Crocodile, Mihawk, and Buggy were enjoying a rare moment of peace. Seated on plush cushions around a low table, they shared a bottle of amber rum — the kind of luxury only those with nothing left to prove could indulge in.

Buggy sipped eagerly, cheeks slightly flushed.

"So… I don’t mean to doubt our great international alliances or whatever, but… why does Akainu really want Blackbeard’s head? I mean, it’s obvious they don’t like each other, sure, but… he could’ve nuked him months ago. Why now?"

Crocodile raised an eyebrow slowly. He swirled his glass, pensive.

Then he answered, in a glacial calm:

"Because Teach touched something that belongs to him."

Buggy blinked.

"You mean… like a territory? A military secret? A weapon?"

Crocodile didn’t answer immediately. Then, without flinching, he said:

"Someone."

Buggy’s jaw dropped. Mihawk raised a curious brow.

Crocodile went on, same tone, as if stating a simple fact like "the sky is blue":

"If someone had taken you or Mihawk from me, I’d have razed an entire island too."

Buggy nearly choked on his sip.

"Croccy-baby…"

Mihawk, usually stoic, slowly placed his hand on Crocodile’s, his gaze burning with quiet sincerity.

"You’d have come for me?" he asked softly.

Crocodile tilted his head, gaze uncharacteristically tender.

"I’d have turned the world upside down."

Buggy jumped to his knees to hug them both.

"That’s so… romantic!"

Crocodile groaned, arms caught between his two lovers.

"You’re heavy."

Buggy squeezed tighter.

"Heavy with LOVE!"

Mihawk sighed, almost amused, and rested his head on Crocodile’s shoulder. Buggy, sandwiched between them, purred contentedly like a colorful cat.

Their fingers intertwined wordlessly.

---

After a dinner filled with gentle teasing and affectionate undertones, the three found themselves in their large shared bedroom, arranged for these rare moments of intimacy.

Crocodile, already seated on the bed, slowly removed his gloves as Mihawk brushed his hair. Buggy, having stolen one of Crocodile’s robes — far too large for him — rolled around in it like a living plush toy.

"You really think Sakazuki will take responsibility if this backfires?" Mihawk asked bluntly.

Crocodile shrugged.

"He has no choice. He loves him. You can tell."

Buggy made a cooing noise.

"I think we should send him a gift! If it happens and he ends up in trouble."

Mihawk raised an eyebrow.

"A gift from us? Very reassuring."

Buggy giggled.

"Relax, I’m kidding. I’m not a monster."

He half-laid on Crocodile, then extended a hand toward Mihawk.

"Come on, I’m cold. And I want cuddles before bed."

Mihawk sighed, approached… and slid against them, one hand gliding along Buggy’s side, the other stroking Crocodile’s hair.

Silence. Rich. Comfortable. Simple.

Crocodile closed his eyes, for once without masks or defenses.

A truce of the heart.

---

The room was plunged into half-darkness, lit only by the flickering glow of a den den lamp. The Cross Guild HQ had gone to sleep — but Crocodile never truly did.

He was alone in his office, fingers stained with ink, an old quill in his gloved hand.

On the desk: thick, high-quality paper stamped with the Guild’s discreet seal.

He wrote a few lines. It was an old code, used back when he still belonged to the shadows of piracy. A forgotten language, known only to a few high-ranking officers. Sakazuki was one of them.

The message was short. Concise. Without flourish.

“Deal accepted. Our blade is yours. The target is mutual.
The debt will be paid in blood.”

Crocodile signed with the Cross Guild’s emblem: an upside-down skull, tongue out, marked with a cross. He rolled the letter, sealed it in a capsule… and tied it to a black dove, specially trained for this kind of message.

The bird flew off into the night without a sound.

Crocodile remained still for a moment, watching the sky through the open window.

Behind him, Mihawk appeared in the doorway, shirtless, a blanket around his shoulders.

"You think he’ll keep his word?" he asked.

Crocodile didn’t move.

"He loves that guy. He’ll keep it."

A silence.

Then Mihawk approached slowly. He placed a hand on Crocodile’s arm.

"And we’ll keep ours."

Crocodile closed his eyes, a faint smile touching his lips.

"Teach is dead. He just doesn’t know it yet."

They stood there in silence, facing the night sky, the ashes of old enemies in mind.

The alliance was sealed.
The countdown had begun.

---

Chapter Text

Kuzan raised an eyebrow as he looked at the long, rectangular package Sakazuki had just placed on the bed in front of him. He was still wearing an oversized gray pajama, a blanket around his shoulders, his hair a tangled mess.

“…This isn’t really your style, bringing gifts,” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

Sakazuki looked away, visibly uncomfortable, arms crossed.

“It’s not a gift. It’s… practical.”

Kuzan slowly opened the box. Inside, perfectly nestled in custom-made foam, was a sleek black prosthetic leg with elegant titanium reinforcements, designed to fit his body perfectly.

Lightweight, maneuverable, modular.
Not made for battle.
Made to live.

Kuzan stayed silent. He gently brushed the cold metal with his fingers.

“Custom order?”

Sakazuki nodded, almost nervously.

“I had it made at Vegapunk’s research center. They modified it so you won’t need your Devil Fruit to keep it stable. You’ll be able to walk. Stand. Without draining yourself.”

Kuzan didn’t reply. He kept staring at the leg. But his eyes had grown misty.

Sakazuki sighed, hands on his hips.

“I… I didn’t want you to rely on your power during the pregnancy. You’ll need your strength for that.”

A pause.

Then, in a quieter voice:

“And… I don’t want you to keep limping. You’ve already lost enough.”

Kuzan looked up. His cheeks were red, and his lips trembled a little. But he gave a small smile—fragile, emotional.

“You’re such an idiot, Sakazuki.”

“Please, keep insulting me. It’s very touching.”

They exchanged a look, then Kuzan burst out laughing softly—a short, but sincere laugh. Sakazuki turned his head, visibly relieved.

*-*-*

They were walking together through the calm corridors of Marine HQ.

Kuzan wore loose black pants, and his new leg was hidden under a fine fabric sleeve. But his steps were steady. Solid.

No tremble.

No ice under his feet.

Sakazuki walked beside him, just a little too close, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, you know,” Kuzan said with a smirk.

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for my own peace of mind.”

“Sure.”

They stopped for a moment near a balcony overlooking the sea. Kuzan leaned on the railing, eyes turned to the sky.

“It’s strange…”

“What is?”

“To feel like I’m… going somewhere. Not just surviving.”

Sakazuki stepped closer, his eyes on the horizon.

“You’re not surviving. You’re living.”

A silence. Then Sakazuki added, in a gentler tone:

“You’ll walk. You’ll eat. You’ll sleep. You’ll be happy. With me. If you want.”

Kuzan looked down. Blushed. And slowly nodded.

Then, very softly, he slipped his fingers between Sakazuki’s.

And together, they stood there a moment longer.

Walking toward a life they never thought they could have.

*-*-*

The garden was bathed in golden light, gentle, almost peaceful. The summer flowers began to bloom timidly under the sweltering heat. The area was quiet, far from the main paths, near a large pond reflecting the sky.

Sakazuki and Kuzan were there, seated on a stone bench off the path. Kuzan had one leg crossed over the other, holding a cup of tea. Sakazuki looked oddly relaxed, even gentle, speaking in a low voice while watching his companion.

And just then, Hibari appeared, her arm looped around Helmeppo’s.

She froze at the scene.

Then, with a mischievous smile:

“Oh?” she said in a sing-song voice.

Sakazuki raised his head. Kuzan slowly turned his eyes toward her.

Helmeppo, meanwhile, felt his intestines fold in terror.

Hibari wasted no time.

“Uncle Sakazuki, do you have a lover now?! Should I call him Uncle Kuzan? Or maybe Kuzan-chan?!”

Helmeppo froze. His life flashed before his eyes.

“Hibari…” he whispered. “Do you… have a death wish?”

Too late.

Sakazuki had blushed. Which, in his case, meant the air around him grew dangerously hot.

Kuzan muffled a small laugh into his cup.

“Kuzan-chan… not sure that fits the military hierarchy,” he commented, amused.

Hibari beamed, innocent as a flower.

“Well, if he gave you a leg and a baby, I doubt he sees you as just a coworker.”

“HIBARI.” Sakazuki growled, a vein bulging on his temple.

Helmeppo tried to back away.

“I’ll just… go find some tea. In another country.”

Kuzan simply gave him a thumbs up:

“Good luck, soldier.”

Hibari batted her lashes, utterly fearless.

“You two are cute. I won’t tell. Promise. But if you need romantic advice, ask Helmeppo. He’s adorable.”

Sakazuki rolled his eyes in exasperation while Kuzan laughed openly now, his eyes shining.

And despite the tension… Sakazuki didn’t say more.

Because for once, all of this… felt almost normal.

Almost soft.

*-*-*

The orange light filtered through tall windows. The usual noise of boots and Den Den Mushi had faded, replaced by a quieter atmosphere.

Sakazuki walked beside Kuzan, who was slowly adjusting to his new prosthetic leg. His steps were measured, but smoother now. Their silence was companionable—two men who didn’t need words to understand each other.

Then, turning a corner… they ran into Koby.

The young man froze. He’d clearly hoped to slip by unnoticed.

Too late.

He stiffened, pale, cheeks flushed.

Sakazuki glared.

“…Sir… Admiral… Kuzan-san…” Koby stammered.

Kuzan gave him a small, curious nod. Sakazuki raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

Koby hesitated. He clenched his fists.

“I have to tell you something. Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe not. But… you deserve to know.”

Sakazuki already looked ready to growl, “Speak before I sink you into the ground.”

Koby lowered his eyes.

“First… I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to panic or overstep. I just… I care about Kuzan-san. And… I got scared.”

Kuzan offered a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s fine, kid. I’m not dead, am I?”

Sakazuki, more coldly: “You said there was more. Speak.”

Koby took a deep breath.

“It’s about the Cross Guild. And… Shanks.”

Silence.

Sakazuki’s eyes narrowed. Kuzan turned slowly toward him.

“You knew something?” Sakazuki asked.

Koby flushed violently, shook his head, then… dropped the bomb:

“I just… asked Shanks to help. Against Blackbeard. Because… I knew he’d listen.” He hesitated. Then in a tiny voice: “…and also because… we’re close. Really close.”

Kuzan raised an eyebrow. Sakazuki’s expression became unreadable.

“You mean…” Kuzan started.

Koby closed his eyes. Then whispered: “I think… I might be… his lover.”

A stunned silence fell.

Even the HQ walls seemed to freeze.

Sakazuki stepped back. Kuzan blinked several times.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kuzan muttered. “The red-haired one with the crazy crew, international charisma, twice your age?”

Koby nodded, completely red.

“He’s very sweet, actually…”

Sakazuki opened his mouth, then shut it. Then growled: “And you brought him into our plans without telling me?”

Koby raised his hands in peace.

“I knew you’d say no! But he… he really wants Blackbeard gone. And he said yes! He agreed to help the Cross Guild!”

Another long silence.

Then Kuzan leaned toward Sakazuki, elbowing his ribs:

“Honestly, Akainu… jealous your soldier is dating a Yonko?”

“Shut up, Kuzan.”

“Shanks and Koby, seriously? I never saw it coming.”

Koby grimaced: “You’re… not mad?”

Sakazuki sighed deeply.

“Not for that. But next time, hand me a Den Den Mushi before giving our strategy to your red-haired boyfriend.”

Koby nodded furiously.

“Yes! Thank you! I didn’t want to cause trouble. I just… wanted to help. And Shanks… he really does want Blackbeard taken down.”

Kuzan, still processing, muttered: “I’ll never be able to look Shanks in the eyes again…”

Sakazuki grunted. Then, in his own way, growled: “If your… Emperor boyfriend betrays us, I’ll burn him. And you with him.”

Koby nodded frantically.

“Understood, Admiral!”
Then he fled like a terrified rabbit.

*-*-*

Kuzan was lounging peacefully on a sofa, a cup of tea in hand, his prosthetic leg resting on a footstool. Sakazuki sat beside him in an armchair, reading a report, frowning slightly, yet oddly at peace.

And then…

The door flew open.

A familiar silhouette appeared — legendary, flamboyant, with that reckless red hair and a grin that spelled nothing but trouble.

“I came for you, my little bunny—”

Shanks froze.

His eyes swept the room.

Kuzan. Sakazuki.

The silence became instantly lethal.

Sakazuki looked up very slowly, eyes turning glacial. Kuzan raised an eyebrow, stiff as stone. Shanks, meanwhile, paused… then raised a sheepish hand in greeting, wearing a not-at-all-apologetic smile.

“Yo? Looks like I picked the wrong room.” He scratched the back of his head. “Probably shouldn’t have shown up unannounced… Koby’s not gonna like this,” he chuckled, completely unbothered.

Sakazuki closed his report very, very slowly.

“You picked the wrong room?” he repeated, with the chill of a volcano about to erupt.

“Confirmed,” added Kuzan, frowning. “No ‘bunny’ here.”

Shanks raised both hands in peace, clearly amused.

“It was for Koby. Promise.”

Sakazuki grumbled.

“I’ll go get him.”

*-*-*

-Later-

Koby burst in like a cannonball.

“SHANKS!! YOU CAN’T JUST SHOW UP AT HQ LIKE THIS!!”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“YOU WENT INTO THE WRONG ROOM!! IN FRONT OF THE FLEET ADMIRAL AND KUZAN-SAN!!”

“We’re all friends here, right? Besides…” Shanks pulled out a small gift, neatly wrapped. He handed it to Koby with a charming smile. “A little something from my last stop. You’ll love it.”

Koby froze. He took the gift, awkwardly, then murmured, “…Thanks.”

Shanks leaned in to whisper in his ear:
“You’ve been so brave lately… I’m proud of you, my bunny.”

Koby turned as red as his lover’s hair, coughing loudly to hide his embarrassment. Sakazuki and Kuzan were staring in stunned silence.

Kuzan, whispering: “Is it just me or… is your protégé being spoiled by a Yonko?”

Sakazuki, muttering darkly: “He’s got a sugar daddy.”

“A Yonko.”

“A filthy rich Yonko.”

*-*-*

Shanks sat down casually, Koby now close beside him, and began chatting like nothing was strange.

“About the alliance with the Cross Guild — it wasn’t hard to arrange.”

Sakazuki stared at him, still cold.
“You trust them?”

“I’ve known Mihawk for years. And Buggy since we were kids. As for Crocodile…” He smirked. “He doesn’t say no to Mihawk. Or to Buggy.”

“Excuse me?” Kuzan said, frowning.

“Say what now?” Koby gaped.

“In what way?” Sakazuki asked suspiciously.

Shanks smiled smugly. “Let’s just say Buggy calls Mihawk ‘Hawky-sweetie’ and Crocodile ‘Croccy-baby’.”

“EXCUSE ME???” said Kuzan, Koby, and Sakazuki in unison.

Kuzan burst out laughing, hands on his stomach. “Oh man… I would’ve NEVER bet on that.”

Koby looked like his brain was short-circuiting.

Sakazuki muttered, “This world’s gone insane…”

*-*-*

Shanks, now completely at home, kicked his feet up on a stool and pulled a bunch of crumpled notes from his jacket.

“Right! Here’s what we’ve got so far: Three ship movements tied to Blackbeard in the New World. One at Hachinosu, one heading toward Banaro Island, and a third… weirdly stationary in a foggy sea.”

Sakazuki snatched the documents and scanned them rapidly with a practiced eye.

“Very precise. Too precise. Did you capture one of his lieutenants or spy on him directly?”

Shanks shrugged, still grinning: “Bit of both. I’ve got my own agents. Even Mihawk sends me info now. Well, indirectly. Thanks to Buggy.”

Kuzan sipped his tea.

“I still can’t believe that clown managed to melt the hearts of two of the most dangerous men alive.”

“He’s got a very fine ass,” Shanks said flatly.

“It’s terrifying that that’s the actual reason,” Sakazuki grumbled.

*-*-*

But then, while everything was winding down, Shanks casually wrapped an arm around Koby’s waist.

“Come on, bunny, let me give you a massage. You’ve earned it. You were perfect today.”

“SHANKS!!” Koby squeaked, blushing furiously. “Not here! Not in front of them—”

“SHAAAANKS—”

A plume of magma exploded two inches from Shanks’ feet, melting the floor.

The Yonko stopped. Slowly. Carefully. He turned his head to face Sakazuki, who stood with his arms crossed and the expression of someone who was one heartbeat away from vaporizing him.

“Do you always go nuclear when someone flirts with your soldier?”

“You touch my officer again in front of me, and I’ll drown you in lava.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m pissed.”

“Hot.”

“OUT.”

*-*-*

Shanks skipped back to his ship, completely unfazed, waving at the tower.

Koby yelled from above:
“YOU CAN’T JUST BREAK INTO HQ LIKE THAT!!”

Shanks, laughing, shouted back:
“I love you too, my bunny! Think of me when you read my intel! And tell your boss his lava’s not hot enough to burn my ass!”

Sakazuki, standing just behind Koby, teeth grinding:

“I’m having that dock demolished. Just out of principle.”

Kuzan, leaning nearby, muttered:
“You’ve created a monster, Koby. He loves you the way a cat loves expensive furniture.”

“I’m in permanent distress,” sighed Koby, clutching his heart.

*-*-*

A TOP-LEVEL BREACH!

Emperor Red-Haired Shanks infiltrates Marine HQ — personally chased out by Fleet Admiral Sakazuki!

No official statement on the motives behind the intrusion has been given.

Why was Shanks really there? What secret was he after?

Rumors are flying…
Some speak of a secret pact.
Others whisper of a love triangle…
The truth remains a mystery!

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan's wounds were healing.

He still had moments of weakness, fatigue, and phantom pains in his leg or back. But he no longer limped. His skin was slowly regaining color. And his cheeks, once hollow, had filled out a little. He had even gained some weight, which the nurse enthusiastically praised, arms crossed on her hips, looking victorious.

“Good, you’ve gained almost three kilos, Mr. Kuzan. Keep it up, it’s perfect for the baby.”

Sakazuki, present in the room, had frowned.

“Fleet Admiral, you heard that.”

But he said nothing more. He simply stood there, arms crossed, with his usual stern expression — silently noting every one of the nurse’s recommendations to make sure Kuzan was eating well, staying hydrated, and getting enough rest.

Kuzan rolled his eyes, amused:

“You’re scaring the nurses now?”

“No. I’m looking after your health. That’s all.”

“You know you’re a real mother hen, right?”

“Better too much than not enough.”

*-*-*

At two and a half months pregnant, Kuzan was in that strange phase where nothing really showed yet, but the body had already started to change. He needed more sleep, couldn’t tolerate certain foods, and still sometimes woke up in the middle of the night.

Two anxiety attacks had happened recently. The first, after a nightmare. The second, for no apparent reason — a simple noise in the hallway, a bright light, an uncontrollable surge of panic.

Sakazuki had been there each time.

Never raising his voice.
Never judging.
Never asking too many questions.

He simply sat by him, held him close, murmured comforting things — clumsily, of course — but sincerely.

“Breathe. I’m here. You’re safe.”

“It’s okay to be scared. But I’m right here. I’ll always be here.”

*-*-*

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was real.

And for Kuzan, that was worth all the gold in the world. One morning, he had looked at himself in the mirror — shirtless, fingers resting on his still nearly flat stomach — and murmured, more to himself than anyone else:

“I still can’t believe this is happening.”

Sakazuki, standing behind him, simply replied:

“You don’t believe it yet, but you’re living it. And so am I.”

Kuzan turned. He looked at this man — once so harsh, so unyielding — now capable of such gentleness. He took his hand. And placed it on his skin.

“Then live it with me.”

*-*-*

The weight of war, of memories, of pain — it was all still there. But Kuzan had found a rhythm again. He was eating better, smiling a bit more. He accepted Sakazuki’s hugs without grumbling. He didn’t even complain when the latter massaged his shoulders in the evening or brewed him a special infusion recommended by the nurse.

Sakazuki, on his side, wrote everything down in a notebook. Weight, meals, sleep hours. Almost obsessively.

“If you want me to gain fifteen kilos, you’ll have to cook better than this, boss.”

“You’ll gain them. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’re feeding me like a sacred cow.”

“You’re carrying my child. You’ll be treated like an imperial treasure.”

*-*-*

One evening, as they lay together, Kuzan whispered — tired but sincere:

“Thank you… for all this. Even if I still have trouble breathing sometimes.”

Sakazuki tightened his embrace a little, his chin resting against Kuzan’s hair.

“Breathe at your own pace. I’m not in a hurry. We’re doing this together.”

And Kuzan fell asleep like that, gently, his heart a little lighter.

*-*-*

The night was peaceful.

The room bathed in soft darkness, lulled by the distant sound of waves crashing against Marineford’s cliffs. It was warm — that kind of summer heat that clings to the skin without suffocating. Kuzan was sleeping deeply, curled under light sheets, his hair tousled against the pillow, one hand resting on his stomach.

But his brows were furrowed.

And in his sleep, he dreamed.

No…
Not a dream.

A nightmare.

There was a cell. Cold. Damp.
Chains.

And laughter.

That vile laugh — raspy, greasy, twisted with mockery and menace.

“Kuzan… my dear Kuzan… You think you can escape me? What you’re carrying… it belongs to me. It’s mine. My blood, my legacy.”

The ground trembled under his feet. The chains slithered like black snakes around his ankles.

And behind the bars, Marshall D. Teach was smiling. His rotten teeth gleamed in the darkness. His eyes… those didn’t smile.

“Give it back. You carry it for me, not for that damn Marine mutt…”

He stretched a hand through the bars. A massive, filthy, horribly real hand.

“Give it to me. GIVE IT TO ME—”

Kuzan jolted awake.

A gasp. Panicked breaths. His heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird. Sweat beaded at his temples. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was.

Not in a cell.
Not in the darkness.
Not with him.

Here… in bed.

With Sakazuki.

The admiral was half-asleep, lying on his side, his hand resting on Kuzan’s stomach — like a silent, instinctive protection.

Kuzan felt his throat tighten.

He slowly looked down at that hand — large, warm, rough… and yet so gentle, that night.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured to himself, almost pleading. “Just a nightmare. It’s over.”

But the bitter taste of fear wouldn’t leave.

He slid closer to Sakazuki, even nearer, resting his forehead against his chest. He could hear the slow beat of the admiral’s heart, feel his warmth, his faint scent of ash and subtle tobacco. Comforting. Alive.

“He has no right. None.”

His fingers closed tightly around Sakazuki’s wrist.

“This baby…” He swallowed hard. “This baby doesn’t belong to anyone else. Not to him. Not to that past. Not to that damn empire of ashes.”

His voice shook.

“It’s ours, Sakazuki. Yours. Mine. That’s it.”

To his great surprise, Sakazuki’s deep voice murmured — half-asleep:

“I know.”

Kuzan jumped slightly. He thought he’d woken him.

But no. Sakazuki didn’t move. He simply slid his fingers between Kuzan’s.

“I know it’s ours. And I’ll never let him take it from you. Or hurt you.”

Kuzan blinked, throat tight. Then he closed his eyes, face buried against his partner’s solid chest.

“Thank you…”

The nightmare still lingered, hiding under his skin.

But against that warm, steady, reassuring body, it had less power.

Kuzan eventually fell asleep again, his hand resting on Sakazuki’s.

And in his dreams, this time, there were no more chains.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan was sitting in a small secondary office at headquarters, a white Den Den Mushi placed in front of him. He had just hung up. A sigh escaped him.

“Garp and Sengoku…” He shook his head slightly, amused. “They still think they’re subtle.”

He stood up slowly, walking to the window, hands in his pockets. His new leg hardly made any noise now — as if his body had fully accepted it. Outside, seagulls cried lazily over the white rooftops.

Sakazuki entered without knocking, a stack of documents under his arm.

“Did Garp answer?”

“Mm. He and the old goat are apparently on some tropical island. On a secret mission, of course.”

Kuzan raised two fingers to make air quotes, a sly smile on his face.

Sakazuki raised an eyebrow.

“Those two idiots still think it's 1476.”

“Apparently, they sneak hugs behind palm trees thinking no one sees them.”

Kuzan chuckled softly.

“I swear, Akainu… They’re worse than us.”

Sakazuki didn’t reply immediately. He slowly approached, placed the documents on the desk, then looked at Kuzan in silence.

“The Navy has reinstated you.”

“I know,” Kuzan replied, his tone more serious. “And you know what the rumors say?”

“That you repented. That you were an unwilling infiltrator. That you brought us critical intel.”

“I was just broken, and I escaped.” Kuzan said calmly.

Sakazuki looked at him for a long time. He came closer and placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder.

“But you came back.” Sakazuki added, “And now, you’re not alone.”

Kuzan turned his head. Their eyes met. It wasn’t passionate — it was… solid. Real. Like rock, like cooled lava.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Sakazuki slowly let go and returned to the documents.

“But… something’s bothering me.”

“Blackbeard?” Kuzan guessed.

“Yeah. If he finds out you’re here, alive… and with a baby…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Kuzan placed a hand on his belly. He didn’t say anything. The silence spoke for him.

But before the tension could thicken the air, a quiet beeping echoed.

A Den Den Mushi. The Cross Guild’s.

Sakazuki picked up.

“Hello.”

Crocodile’s rough but bored voice crackled: “Relax, Admiral. He’s too busy making the mistake of attacking other islands. We’ll let you know if anything changes.”

(Was Crocodile reading the caller ID to bother answering that politely?)

“And… I feel like training, so… you can sleep soundly,” Mihawk added calmly.

“Hehehe! That’s right! Croccy-baby’s on hyper-vigilance, but I say: Blackbeard doesn’t stand a CHANCE!”

Sakazuki grimaced. Kuzan gave a thumbs up, amused. “That’s reassuring, in a way…” he murmured. “Even if I never thought I’d say that after a call with Buggy.”

“Me neither.”

Sakazuki hung up. Then he looked at Kuzan, his dark gaze softened by a serious glow.

“They’re unstable. Uncontrollable. But powerful. And strangely… reliable.”

“Like us,” Kuzan replied with a crooked smile.

“As long as he doesn’t come near… you’re safe here.”

“And if one day he does?”

Sakazuki clenched his fists. “I’ll burn him to ash.”

Kuzan smiled — a genuine one this time. He approached slowly and slid his arms around the admiral’s waist.

“Can’t wait to see that. But for now… I think we deserve a normal evening.”

“Normal?”

“You, me, a hot cup of tea, and not a single emperor in the room.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They walked out together, slowly.
And this time, they didn’t look back.

---

The bedroom light was soft, golden, gentle like a breath. The sheets were wrinkled by their presence, but the night wasn’t feverish or rushed.
It was slow, quiet, almost shy.

Kuzan was lying on his side, hair tousled against the pillow, cheek half-hidden by the blanket. He stared at Sakazuki in silence.

Sakazuki, shirtless, sat leaning back against the headboard. He didn’t speak either, but one of his hands rested gently on Kuzan’s hip — not moving, just… being there.

“…You’re staring,” Kuzan murmured.

“I’m looking at you,” Sakazuki replied, his voice low, even deeper than usual.

Kuzan glanced away a little, embarrassed… before meeting his eyes again.

“You can kiss me. If you want.”

Sakazuki didn’t reply right away. His gaze softened, almost uncertain. He leaned in slowly, very slowly, as if he feared even the brush of their lips might make everything fall apart.

Their noses brushed. Kuzan’s breath quickened.

And finally, their lips touched.

A kiss. Slow. Light. Fragile.

Nothing rushed, nothing conquering. Just a restrained tenderness, almost clumsy.

Kuzan slid a hand to Sakazuki’s cheek, his cold fingers against warm skin.

“It’s not unpleasant… being loved gently.”

Sakazuki closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his.

“It’s new.”

They stayed like that for a while. Cuddled. Silent. Breathing in sync, in that cocoon outside the world.

---

A bit later, the admiral’s private dining room was bathed in orange light.
The usually plain table was now covered with a light tablecloth. Two place settings. Folded napkins. Flowers (surely from Hibari, given the clumsiness of the bouquet).

And above all… a meal.

More like a feast.

Sticky rice with soft spices, steamed grilled vegetables, tender fish, seaweed broth, stuffed buns, caramelized fruits.

And set aside: a dessert — sweet, rich, specially prepared by the kitchen under the Marine dietitian’s recommendations.
Kuzan sat slowly, almost shyly.

“You took over the entire kitchen?”

“For once you’re eating properly,” Sakazuki grumbled.

“You know I gained two kilos since last week?”

“You still need thirteen more.”

Kuzan rolled his eyes with a smile, but his cheeks were red. He grabbed his chopsticks and, without a word, served himself.

“Is it good?” Sakazuki asked after a few minutes.

“It’s… delicious,” Kuzan whispered. “I feel like an emperor.”

“You are. In my world.”

Silence followed that sentence.

Kuzan looked up, stunned. Then, slowly, he smiled. A real smile. Warm, a little surprised, but sincere.

“You’re pretty romantic for someone they call the dog of justice.”

Sakazuki looked away, flustered.

“Eat.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

They ate side by side, between stolen glances and shared silences.

And even if the whole world outside seemed ready to collapse…
That evening, in that quiet room, there were only two men.
And the love blooming between them.

---

Kuzan raised an eyebrow so high it almost reached his hairline.

“You want to leave me with… him?”

Sakazuki sighed, already fastening his red and black cape.

“Just for a few hours. And you’re safer here than anywhere else.”

“Kizaru, seriously? The guy who dematerializes to avoid meetings and sleeps with his eyes open?”

“I trust him. And you need to rest. He’ll stand guard if needed.”

“He’s going to raid your candy stash, that’s all he’ll do.”

Sakazuki rolled his eyes. “I’m leaving. I’ll be back. Get some rest, Kuzan.”

He approached, cupped his cheek, and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

“I promise. I’ll be back soon.”

---

The city at that hour was lively without being stifling.
Hibari practically bounced next to her uncle, visibly delighted.

“We’re going shopping? With you?” she exclaimed with a toothy grin. “I hope you didn’t forget your wallet, Uncle Sakazuki.”

“I didn’t come to window shop,” he grunted. “I promised you an outing, not to become a walking credit card.”

“And yet, we’re going home with bags!” she laughed.

They strolled quietly through the city center. As they passed, some citizens recognized the Fleet Admiral… but no one dared approach him. Except Hibari, who tugged his arm into shops without hesitation.

And it was at the corner of an alley, after passing a toy store, that Hibari stopped abruptly.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“I just realized… Is it true? You’re… going to have a baby?”

Sakazuki froze.
The air around him seemed to heat, subtly. He didn’t reply immediately.

“Kuzan told you that?”

“No one told me. I figured it out, dumbass,” she said, punching his shoulder. “You’re not the type to worry about a colleague to the point of fattening him up, giving him a leg, tucking him in at night, and dodging Kizaru just so he doesn’t get tired. So… yeah. He’s pregnant, right? And it’s your baby?”

Sakazuki inhaled slowly. He didn’t want to lie. But he didn’t want to explain either.

“It’s my child,” he said simply. “That’s all you need to know.”

Hibari stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled. Not teasing. Not surprised. Just sincerely… moved.

“You’re going to be a grumpy but awesome dad.”

“If you say so…”

She grabbed his hand — big, rough — and pulled him toward the toy store.

“Come on. Let’s pick out a plushie. They’ll need a snuggly friend. And pajamas! Neutral ones, okay? We don’t know the gender yet, right?”

Sakazuki half-grunted.

“Now I have to buy baby clothes… You want a neon pink one with frogs?”

“No.”

“Sky blue with tiny mushrooms?”

“Even worse.”

“Then let me choose, grumpy uncle. I know what I’m doing.”

---

An hour later, they left the store with a bag containing:

A penguin plush soft as a cloud (Hibari insisted: “In honor of Kuzan’s style, look, it has a blue scarf!”)

Three cotton onesies: beige, seafoam green, and white with little suns

A pacifier shaped like a star (“Just in case — they might shine as much as their father.”)

Sakazuki carried the bag without a word.
But a discreet smile floated on his lips.

And deep down… he was a little less afraid.

Because with people like Hibari, Helmeppo, Koby, and even that damn Shanks around…
maybe their imperfect, battered world still had a place for a child who would be loved.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan was sitting on the examination table, one hand resting on his barely rounded belly, the other holding a follow-up chart. He was chewing on a stick of licorice out of sheer nerves, his gaze lost in the distance. The nurse—a brisk and energetic woman whose glasses were always on the verge of slipping off her nose—was fervently tapping on her den-den mushi.

"Well, well... blood pressure is stable. Weight: up fifteen kilos, well done. That’s a bit fast, though—I suppose someone’s been fattening you up like a goose behind the scenes."

Kuzan sighed. “You know, you don’t have to comment out loud.”

“I’m just saying you’ve got a good appetite. And that there’s love in your meals. Clearly, the fleet admiral wants to make you a chubby daddy.”

She emphasized fleet admiral with a teasing smile. Kuzan rolled his eyes.

"Can I report him for forced overfeeding, you think?"

“No, but I could send him a medal. You’ve got your color back. Your body’s stabilizing. And the baby’s developing normally.”
Her tone finally softened.
“You’re at three months, Kuzan-san. And you’re doing well.”

Kuzan, a little moved despite himself, slowly nodded.

"Thank you."

*-*-*

Later that day, in an older wing of headquarters, Kuzan pushed open a familiar door. Two graying heads turned immediately toward him.

“Oh?!” said Sengoku, immediately standing up and pushing his glasses up his nose.

“KUZAN, YOU LITTLE—!” Garp roared, rushing over to crush him in a bear hug.

Kuzan grimaced, suffocated.
"Oh Garp-san, there’s a baby here now—maybe be a little gentle?"

“A what?” Garp froze.

Sengoku was speechless.
A pause. Long. Very long.

Kuzan straightened up, scratched his neck, and said:

"I’m pregnant. Three months. And no, I don’t want to talk about it for two hours." He raised a hand before either of them could speak. "I know what you’re going to say. Yes, it’s strange. Yes, I’m a man. Yes, I know I left the Marines. And no, Sakazuki isn’t—"

He stopped.
Because Garp had placed a firm hand on his shoulder, the usual calm smile on his lips.

“It’s Sakazuki’s baby, isn’t it?”

Garp’s gaze left no room for doubt. Kuzan didn’t answer. But Garp gave him a small pat on the back, soft, almost affectionate.

“Of course. Of course it’s his.”

Sengoku, beside him, crossed his arms with a small smirk.

“Everyone will know, Kuzan. But it’s up to you to decide what you want them to say.”

Kuzan lowered his eyes, relieved.

"Thank you."

“And that baby... it’s going to have quite the family,” Garp added with a booming laugh. “One magma dad who scares everyone, and another who naps on missions. We’re going to need to balance those genes.”

Sengoku smiled gently.
“We’ll be here too. If you want.”

And for the first time in a long while, Kuzan felt something unexpected: a home.

Even in the ashes.
Even after everything.

*-*-*

The dorm door opened quietly. Kuzan entered in silence, closing it behind him. He was still wearing his coat, but his shoulders betrayed a certain weariness—or rather, an emotion he couldn’t quite hide. Sakazuki was seated at his desk, glasses perched low on his nose, a medical report in hand. He looked up at once.

“How did the appointment go?”

Kuzan shrugged, attempting a smile.

"You’ll be happy to know I’ve officially hit the weight quota you wanted. You can stop feeding me like a prize bull now."

Sakazuki narrowed his eyes, but there was an amused glint in them. He carefully folded the report, set it aside, and stood slowly to join him.

“The results are good. Baby’s stable. You too.”

"Mhm." Kuzan went to sit on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his coat. He placed a distracted hand on his belly—beginning to show, just a little.

Sakazuki approached quietly, then knelt in front of him, placing a large, warm hand on Kuzan’s knee.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Kuzan’s gaze softened. Then, after a short silence: “I went to see Garp and Sengoku.”

Sakazuki nodded slowly, listening with complete attention.

"I told them… everything. The pregnancy. Coming back to the Marines. And…" He inhaled. “They didn’t say anything. I mean, they did. Garp said it was obvious you were the father.” A pause. “It relieved me. And weirdly, it scared me too.”

Sakazuki waited.

"Scared that it’s true. That you’re the father. And that I have to do things right. Not just survive. Not just patch the pieces. But… live."

He looked up at him, almost fragile.

"You really want this baby, don’t you?"

Sakazuki didn’t answer right away. Then, in a voice gentler than usual:

“I want everything that comes with you. Even what you didn’t choose.” He carefully placed his hand on Kuzan’s belly. “And I want… to let you choose too. What you want.”

Kuzan swallowed."I want…" His voice softened into a whisper: "I want a place where they won’t be scared. Not cold. Not hungry. I want… them to have a name before they’re born. I want… to be able to say they’re loved. Even if they come from a monster."

Sakazuki looked up. And murmured:
“They come from you. Not a monster.”

A shiver passed through Kuzan.
Then, gently, he wrapped his arms around Sakazuki’s shoulders, pulling him into a slow, trembling embrace.

"Then… I want them to call you Dad."

And for the first time in a long time, Sakazuki closed his eyes against Kuzan’s chest.
He had nothing more to add.

It was enough.

*-*-*

Kuzan was lying on the bed, arms behind his head, eyes half-closed. Sakazuki sat nearby, legs crossed, the day’s files carelessly abandoned on the low table.

Three months.

The symbolic milestone. A threshold. A confirmation. Sakazuki slowly lowered his gaze toward Kuzan, then to his belly, still discreet beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. Nothing spectacular. Not yet. But there was a slight curve, a different tension in the skin. Something more… tangible.

And that was enough to make his heart slow every time he looked at it.

“Three months already,” he murmured, more to himself than to Kuzan.

Kuzan opened one eye, curious. “You’re counting the days?”

“Of course.”

Kuzan smiled faintly, almost touched. He rested a hand on his belly, gently, almost absently.

"It’s still strange. Thinking that it’s real."

“It is,” Sakazuki replied, his tone serious but almost tender. He leaned forward, and without touching it, stared at that budding curve with a kind of quiet reverence. “Even if it’s not that visible yet.”

"Good. I don’t want the whole HQ to know I’ve got a bun in the oven."

Sakazuki gave a small, discreet smile. “We’ll see what you say when you can’t bend down to lace your boots.”

"I’ll make you do it for me."

“Count on it.”

Then Sakazuki finally extended his hand, slowly, carefully. He placed his fingers on the barely visible curve of Kuzan’s belly. He didn’t press. Didn’t caress.

He acknowledged.

“It’s real,” he whispered. “You’re carrying it. And… I’m proud of you.”

Kuzan looked at him for a long time. Then he grabbed that hand and held it against himself.

"I’m glad it’s you."

Sakazuki didn’t reply. But his gaze, both burning and calm, said everything. They didn’t yet know what the future held for them. But that night, in the quiet warmth of the dorm, they knew it was real. And that it was theirs.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

The day was still young when Sakazuki stepped into the room, a steaming cup of tea in hand. He held it out to Kuzan, who was slumped on the couch—pale, sweating, his eyes fixed on an unfolded newspaper.

One page in particular.

A photo.

Marshall D. Teach. Blackbeard.

That predatory grin frozen in ink, teeth bared, eyes gleaming with mischief. The headline screamed:

"Clash at the Top: Cross Guild and Red-Haired Shanks Strike Hard!"

Another blurb read:

"Shiryu taken down by the infamous Mihawk, Van Augur forced to flee by the Red Emperor. Blackbeard on the run."

Kuzan still held the paper with a trembling hand. The other covered his mouth, his complexion turning dangerously green. Sakazuki stepped forward immediately, set down the tea, and knelt beside him.

"Hey. Kuzan. Breathe. Look at me."

Kuzan nodded, closed his eyes, and inhaled. His hand slowly dropped from his mouth. He tried to speak, but his voice cracked:

"I almost threw up just seeing him... Not even because of the pregnancy. Just… him. That face."

Sakazuki stayed silent, letting the moment sit. Then, calmly, he took the paper, folded it gently, and set it aside.

"You don’t need to look at him. Not here. Not now."

Kuzan shook his head.
"I wanted to know. To see if he’d been caught. If… it was over."

Sakazuki’s lips tightened. His jaw clenched.
"He ran. Like the coward he is."

"Shiryu’s dead?"

"Sliced clean through by Mihawk. No hesitation."

Kuzan shivered. That name. Shiryu. A chill of hatred—but also a brutal sense of relief. One less threat.

"Van Augur?"

"Desperate escape. Shanks scared him half to death."

"And Teach… still on the run."

Sakazuki nodded. His hand brushed lightly against Kuzan’s wrist.

"But he’s being hunted. By people who want his head as much as I do. He won’t stay hidden for long."

Kuzan let his head fall back against the couch. Then, in a low voice:
"I don’t want this child to be born into a world where he’s still free."

Without a word, Sakazuki placed a warm, firm hand on Kuzan’s belly. He looked him dead in the eye.

"He won’t be. I promise you. Whether it’s by me, the people I paid, or Shanks himself… he will fall."

Kuzan closed his eyes, then placed his hand over Sakazuki’s.

"I want this child to be ours. Just ours."

"It already is."

"Then say it. If he ever comes to claim him—"

"He won’t claim anything. Because he won’t be breathing."
Sakazuki’s voice was calm. Certain. Final.

And for the first time that morning, Kuzan managed to relax a little. He nodded slowly, letting his body lean more into Sakazuki’s. His partner’s next words were nearly a caress:

"This child will never know a monster’s face. Only those who love him."

*-*-*

A press den den mushi screamed from the lounge. The headline was clear, bloody, theatrical:

"BUGGY THE CLOWN EMPEROR SHEDS BLOOD: TWO OF BLACKBEARD’S PIRATES BEHEADED ON HIS TERRITORY!"

Front and center: a macabre photo. Two heads on spikes. One still had a black bandana with Blackbeard’s Jolly Roger. The other’s eyes were frozen in terror.

A bold caption underneath:

"They dared set foot on Kara-Kara Island, under Cross Guild protection. Payment was swift. In blood. In steel. In style."

Further down: a disturbingly crisp image of Buggy posing in front of the spikes, beaming, arms raised as if he’d just won an Oscar.

"No one sets foot on MY islands without permission!" — Buggy D. Clown, Emperor of the Seas.

*-*-*

Sakazuki’s Office

Kuzan, legs folded beneath him, was reading the paper aloud. He raised an eyebrow slowly with every line.

"…He impaled two guys. Gave a speech. With fireworks behind him."

Sakazuki crossed his arms and sighed.

"Did Mihawk and Crocodile encourage him… or just forget to supervise?"

Kuzan chuckled softly.
"I think they let him do it. That’s the worst part. Crocodile probably doesn’t care. Mihawk? Most likely sharpening his sword while saying ‘very good, my clown.’ Still… two of Teach’s pawns down. If Buggy kills more than you, Sakazuki, I’m gonna start calling him boss."

"I’ll shut him up with a decree if he keeps it up."

And around the world...

The headlines were explosive.

"HUNTING AN EMPEROR?!"
Could Blackbeard’s fall be the result of a silent alliance—between the Navy, the Cross Guild, and Red-Haired Shanks?

Tensions rising. Pawns falling. At the center of it all: Teach’s massive bounty.

*-*-*

Somewhere on a distant island in the New World…

Blackbeard held the newspaper in his massive hands. His twisted, rage-filled laughter echoed.

"Zehahahaha… Those bastards think they can hunt me down like some beast?!"
He threw the paper to the ground, crushing it under his heel. But he knew.

They were coming for him.

*-*-*

Cross Guild Headquarters

Buggy’s laughter rang like an off-key fanfare through the luxurious but chaotic corridors. He was sitting cross-legged on a coffee table littered with bottles of sake, wine, beer, and a half-eaten cake no one could tell if it had been planned for a party or stolen from the kitchen. Beside him, Crocodile let out a loud sigh, cigar clenched in his teeth, slouched in an armchair. Mihawk, quietly sipping red wine, looked resigned to the chaos.

And across from them, grinning, was none other than Red-Haired Shanks, flanked by Yasopp and Benn Beckman, crashing the party as a surprise guest. The mood? Chaotic. Warm. Completely out of control. Buggy, cheeks red with alcohol, held up a newspaper like a trophy.

"HEY, APPARENTLY THE GUY HE’S PROTECTING IS KUZAN!!" He burst into uncontrollable laughter, slapping the table.

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, deadpan:
"Who? That Marine lapdog?"

Shanks, cracking up, gently tapped Buggy on the shoulder with his bottle: "Oh yeah, Koby told me about that! Thought you knew already."

Buggy froze."WHAT?! YOU KNEW?! YOU RED-HAIRED BASTARD!" He gave him a very weak punch to the shoulder. Shanks laughed harder. "Wait—who’s Koby again?"

Yasopp facepalmed. Benn Beckman rolled his eyes. Shanks shrugged casually:

"Oh, he’s my lover. Oops. Was that a secret?"

Silence fell.

Buggy screamed, leaping at him:
"WHAT?! YOU’RE A SUGAR DADDY NOW?!"

Shanks burst out laughing, half-heartedly defending himself:
"It’s love, Buggy! And I’m generous, okay?"

Crocodile exhaled smoke with disdain.
"Did you at least pay for his Marine school, or are you just pretending to be romantic?"

Mihawk, mildly amused, added dryly:
"Does he already have joint custody of the kid, or is it not official yet? The Navy’s really letting you keep him?"

Shanks raised a hand.
"Hey now! No judging love here! Plus, he’s adorable when he’s mad!"

Buggy, teary-eyed (from alcohol), groaned:
"The world’s gone mad. The Fleet Admiral’s in love with Kuzan. Red-Hair’s dating a Marine hero. And I’m out here impaling heads just to be taken seriously!"

Crocodile smirked.
"And yet you’re the Emperor who’s scaring people the most these days."

Mihawk, thoughtful:
"If Blackbeard ran, it’s not just because of Sakazuki. He feels the world closing in around him."

Shanks, briefly serious:
"He messed with something too precious. I don’t usually meddle in Navy business, but… Koby wanted to help Sakazuki. And I won’t let Blackbeard walk free."

Buggy, arms crossed:
"You helping out of love or justice?"

Shanks blinked, then burst out laughing:
"Bit of both. Plus… Mihawk’s doing it for me, right?"

Mihawk, dry as sandpaper:
"I’m not doing anything for you, Shanks."

Crocodile, sly:
"But you are doing it for Buggy."

"WILL YOU STOP SAYING THAT IN FRONT OF PEOPLE?!"

The night ended as it began: in chaos, laughter, and booze. And somewhere, among this band of absurdly named pirates, a strange sense of unity took root. An improbable alliance, forged not by glory—but by a simple cause:

To bring down Blackbeard.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan slowly sat up on the couch, one hand instinctively gliding over his round belly.
Five months. Already.
His body had changed. His rhythm too. But Sakazuki watched over him.

Always.

There was a bottle of cold water next to him, a pillow tucked under his legs, and even a small tray ready in case he woke up hungry. He rolled his eyes, a half-annoyed, half-tender smile on his lips.

"I can still walk, you know..."

But Sakazuki wasn’t there to hear it. He was probably in a meeting. Still, Kuzan knew he’d be back as soon as he could.

He slowly reached for the newspaper on the table.

> "Van Augur killed."

He froze, frowning.

There was a note under the article:
"Involving Trafalgar D. Water Law, captain of the Heart Pirates, still at large. The clash reportedly lasted less than an hour. No survivors from Blackbeard’s infiltrated crew."

Kuzan swallowed hard. He thought he could detach himself. Stop reading that name. Stop seeing it. But the whole world had become a bloody chessboard, and Blackbeard’s head, it seemed, was the prize.

"It’s become a game..." he murmured bitterly.

A game for emperors. For pirates. For those who wanted to shine.

He got up slowly, hands on his hips. His belly was well rounded now. His prosthetic leg still worked just fine, but every movement was heavier, more deliberate. He dragged himself to the window, watching ships come and go in the bay.

His hand fell on his belly again.

"Don’t worry. No one’s getting near you. Not him. Not ever again."

A sound of footsteps behind him made him turn around.

Sakazuki.
File under his arm, tense expression, but his eyes were locked on him—on him alone. His gaze immediately dropped to Kuzan’s belly.

"Did you eat? Sleep well? You didn’t get up too fast, did you?"

Kuzan sighed.

"I read the paper."

Sakazuki stepped closer, his gaze hardening.

"Van Augur’s dead. Trafalgar Law took him out. And others... are hunting Teach. The whole world wants his head."

"And you? Want it handed to you, or planning to take it yourself?"

Sakazuki crossed his arms.

"Doesn’t matter who gets to him first. What matters is that he disappears. For good."

Kuzan nodded slowly. Then stepped closer, slipping his hand into Sakazuki’s.

"As long as you stay in one piece."

Sakazuki looked at him for a long moment. Then, gently, placed his broad hand on the rounded belly.

"I promised you, didn’t I? I’m your rock. And now... his too."

A calm silence surrounded them.

Even if the world burned, they were still standing.

*-*-*

The antiseptic smell, the soft beeping of the cardiac den-den mushi, and the focused silence of the nurse.

Kuzan sat on the exam table, his chest partly bare for the checks. He wore loose pants, his hand idly caressing his rounded belly, almost soothed by the routine of these visits.

The nurse—a stern woman with glasses who never smiled, not even at Garp—lowered her eyes to the medical chart.

"Weight stabilized. Actually, it’s excellent. You’re at five and a half months, your reserves are back, and the baby’s well positioned."

She looked up, almost satisfied. Then added:

"And to be honest, fleet admiral or not, you’ve done a good job."

Kuzan turned his head and saw Sakazuki leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He held a notebook, but his eyes never left Kuzan.

Sakazuki muttered:

"I’m just doing what needs to be done."

The nurse raised an eyebrow:

"It’s rare to see a superior officer who knows when to force someone to eat. You helped him avoid major complications. You even made a nutritionist appointment before I suggested it."

Kuzan arched an eyebrow.

"You did that?"

Sakazuki muttered again, looking away:

"It’s not important."

"You’re a doting dad already..." Kuzan murmured, both amused and touched.

The nurse packed up her tools.

"See you in two weeks. But honestly, I don’t have much to monitor. Get rest. Walk. Keep doing what you’re doing."

She left the room, leaving the two men in silence. Sakazuki stepped closer, closing the notebook with a sharp snap.

Kuzan glanced at it curiously.

"You were reading a report?"

"Not reading. Making a list."

"A list?"

Sakazuki sat next to him, reopened the notebook, and turned a page. Names, written in his own hand—precise, furious. Some circled in red. Others crossed out.

Laffitte
Doc Q
Sanjuan Wolf
Pizarro
Stronger
Catarina Devon
Shiryu
Van Augur

"Still too many left."

Kuzan stared at him, expression grave.

"You want to take them all down?"

Sakazuki closed the notebook.

"Not for revenge. For safety. As long as those bastards breathe, you and the baby are in danger. And that—I won’t allow."

A heavy silence.

Then Kuzan gently rested his head on Sakazuki’s shoulder, his hand still on his belly.

"I get scared, sometimes. But with you... I can breathe."

Sakazuki, voice a little hoarse:

"Then let me protect you. To the very end."

*-*-*

Warm sunlight streamed through the half-closed blinds, lighting up the curve of a belly under a too-large blue t-shirt. Kuzan lay sprawled across the bed, a notebook open in front of him, pencil stuck between his teeth. He was scribbling with intense focus.

Sakazuki walked in, raising an eyebrow.

"What are you writing?"

Kuzan mumbled without removing the pencil:

"Name ideas."

Sakazuki froze. The silence that followed was almost comical.

"...Name what?"

Kuzan looked up, completely serious.

"Well yeah. We’re gonna have to name it. Can’t call it the baby forever."

Sakazuki seemed to hesitate, like stepping on a landmine. He slowly approached, sat beside him, and looked at the notebook. Two columns.

*-*-*

Girl:
Aoi
Hina
Hanae
Marika
Saori

Boy:
Riku
Tetsuya
Sora
Daiki
Kaien

There were scribbled hearts, arrows, some comments in the margins. “Too military,” “too soft?”, “sounds like a pop star?”

Sakazuki stared at it, perplexed.

"You came up with all that on your own?"

"Haven’t been sleeping much. Had to keep busy."

Sakazuki plucked the pencil from Kuzan’s fingers and added to the bottom of the page:

*-*-*

Boy: Genji, Kaito, Sousuke
Girl: Ayame

*-*-*

Chapter Text

Kuzan had settled into a soft armchair, one hand resting on his rounded belly. Seven months. He could feel the baby moving almost every hour now, a constant reminder that something new, alive, and innocent was growing inside him—despite everything he had been through.

Sakazuki entered the room, a file in hand, visibly worried. But upon seeing him there, serene and still, his features softened.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Tired. But... alive," Kuzan murmured, eyes half-closed. He caressed his belly, then smiled. "And he’s doing fine too. Kicking around... I think he takes after you."

Sakazuki let out a low grunt and sat beside him, placing the file on the coffee table.

"You seen the news?"

"I didn’t have to. I saw you smile."

Sakazuki raised an eyebrow, almost surprised.

"You don’t smile often. Except when you cross another name off your list."

Silence.

Then Kuzan spoke again softly, eyes drifting into space.

"They’re all gone. Shiryu, Van Augur. Lafitte’s disappeared. Doc Q was found dead on a beach. Even Stronger was shot down."

He paused.

"Only him left. Blackbeard. Alone."

Sakazuki nodded slowly, like delivering a verdict.

"The whole world wants him now. Even the ones who helped him before. He’s being hunted—by the Emperors, by the Marines, by those he betrayed. By those he broke."

"By us," Kuzan added, voice low and firm.

Sakazuki placed a hand over his.

"He won’t escape this time. And it will be final."

Kuzan closed his eyes, letting the silence fill the room.

"I know. But what I really appreciate..." He tightened his grip on Sakazuki’s hand, then guided it to his belly. "...is that I’m not afraid anymore."

Sakazuki looked at him for a long moment. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t make promises. He had never been a man of pretty words.

But in his gaze, in the strength of his grip, there was a vow more solid than any sentence.

"We’re almost there," Kuzan whispered.
"And after that… we’ll live."

*-*-*

Kuzan let out a long sigh, sprawled across the bed, his back sunk into the pillows, a hand over his heavy belly. Seven months... He felt massive.

"I’m a whale," he groaned.

Sakazuki looked up from his file, seated in a nearby chair. He squinted.

"You’ve been saying that for three weeks."

"This time I mean it. I can’t even wear my own clothes anymore. I’m living in your shirts." He tugged at the red and black fabric he was wearing—a shirt of Sakazuki’s, way too big, now an improvised tunic.

"You’ve always had good taste," Sakazuki mumbled, looking away.

Kuzan stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Was that a clumsy compliment?"

"...Maybe."

Kuzan rolled onto his side—as best he could—and grabbed a box from the nightstand. Inside, a few neatly folded baby pajamas, a beige onesie embroidered with little clouds, and a tiny wool blanket.

"We’ve got almost everything..."

Sakazuki stood up, walked over, and sat beside him. His gaze fell on a notebook filled with scribbled name lists, crib models, and medical appointment times.

"And the house will be ready on time."

Kuzan slowly turned his eyes to him.

"The house, huh?"

"The one on Marineford. They rebuilt a whole family district. Gardens, security, ocean view."

"You really wanna raise a baby on a military island?"

"I never said we’d stay admirals forever," Sakazuki replied calmly.

Kuzan froze. The silence that followed trembled slightly.

"You mean…"

"If you want us to leave after the birth, we will. You, me… and him." He placed a hand on Kuzan’s belly. "I don’t need this job anymore. I want to protect you both. Not the whole world."

Kuzan lowered his eyes. Moved. Lost. Deeply touched.

"You’re really ready to do anything for this kid, huh..."

"Not just for the kid."

They exchanged a long look. And Kuzan murmured, his voice trembling:

"…Thank you. Even if I look like an exhausted penguin."

"You look like a giant iceberg. But you’re still beautiful."

"You really have no tact."

"You knew that when you kissed me the first time."

Kuzan chuckled, a little reluctantly, and leaned his head against Sakazuki’s shoulder.

And there, in the quiet of dusk, wearing an oversized shirt in a vast, uncertain world, Kuzan felt for the first time that this life… truly belonged to him again.

---

Kuzan woke with difficulty. Not from a nightmare this time, just because his back was screaming.

He groaned, tried to roll over, and realized he was stuck. Literally.

"...Sakazuki."

No response.

"Sakazuki."

Still nothing.

He lifted his head with effort: the Fleet Admiral was still asleep, shirtless, his arm wrapped around Kuzan—resting firmly on his belly.

"You can’t just plop your hand there like a rock and fall asleep for eight hours, old volcano."

"Hngrh," Sakazuki muttered, unmoving.

Kuzan sighed. Then gently tapped his lover’s wrist.

"I need to get up. The baby’s doing the lambada on my bladder."

"Ten minutes."

"Five, if you don’t want me to water you."

Sakazuki opened one eye. He sighed. And, like every morning, he sat up with dramatic slowness to help Kuzan out of bed.

8:03 AM — Kitchen

Sakazuki was reading the latest mission reports while Kuzan, slouched in a chair, chewed a piece of toast and grumbled:

"I hate the taste of milk now. So does the baby. He puked it up in five seconds."

"No milk then. What else?"

"Eggs make me nauseous. Melon makes me sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah. I cried yesterday eating a slice."

Sakazuki sighed.

"Do we have cold noodles?"

"It’s eight in the morning."

"The baby wants noodles."

Without a word, Sakazuki stood up and began preparing soba with military efficiency. Kuzan watched him for a moment, arms wrapped around his belly, visibly moved.

"You’re really a mama hen."

"I prefer the word efficient."

"I’d say controlling, overprotective, anxious—but charming when you try."

Sakazuki ignored the comment and placed the plate in front of him. Kuzan smiled, picked at the noodles, and… his face lit up.

"Ooooh, that’s good. Baby approves."

"He already has your sarcasm."

"He’ll have your grumpy face."

9:42 AM — Bathroom

Kuzan grimaced at his reflection. He was wearing loose pants and a baggy T-shirt—another one of Sakazuki’s—and was struggling to tie his hair.

"I look like a tired turnip."

"You look… alive. That’s already something."

Sakazuki entered behind him, towel on his shoulder. He placed a hand on Kuzan’s belly without a word. A gesture that had become almost natural.

"Seven months," Kuzan whispered. "Can you believe it?"

"He’s going to be tall."

"He’s going to be stubborn."

"He’s going to take after you."

"If he’s a grumpy little ice cube, that’s your fault."

"And if he’s got your chronic laziness?"

"We’ll raise him in balance."

Kuzan smiled at his reflection, then turned toward Sakazuki.

"Want to help me shave?"

"You still trust me after what I did to my own chin?"

"Yeah. But if you succeed, I’ll let you pick the curtain color for the new house."

"Deal."

10:12 AM — Private Balcony

They were sitting outside, the sun warming the stone. Kuzan had his feet elevated, a cushion behind his back, and a cup of herbal tea in hand. He hadn’t vomited since breakfast. Small victory.

"Thinking of names today?" Sakazuki asked.

"Hm. A little. I was thinking something simple. Short. Maybe Japanese."

"Not Sakazuki Junior."

"Saka Junior… that’s awful."

"Very."

They chuckled softly.

Then Kuzan, without warning, slipped his hand into Sakazuki’s.

"I’m scared, sometimes. But I’m happy too. And... I think I’m starting to love this baby."

Sakazuki gently squeezed his hand.

"Me too."

And in that small moment of nothing, with the war rumbling far away and the seagulls crying above Marineford, their everyday life felt… livable. Rich. Human.

Almost peaceful.

*-*-*

The room was quiet, bathed in shadow. Only the sound of the sea and the distant chirping of crickets accompanied the night.

Kuzan was lying on his side, pressed against Sakazuki. His round belly rested gently on the mattress, and the admiral’s large hand followed the slow rhythm of his breathing.

A kiss.

Just one.

Their lips had searched for each other, slowly. A warm contact, trembling, then… a sigh.

But this time, something was different.

Kuzan shivered. His body, tense against Sakazuki’s, began to respond. Desire rose—soft, confusing, but real.

His fingers clutched the sheets. His breath quickened. He looked up at his lover.

"...I... I want to."

His voice barely trembled. It wasn’t an order, or even a request. Just a truth, offered softly.

Sakazuki slowly raised his head, watching him with rare tenderness.

"Are you sure?"

Kuzan nodded… but quickly looked down. Doubt flooded in. His body longed for touch, but his mind was a storm of emotions.

Flashes. Quick and violent. Chains. Hands forcing him. Harsh laughter. Blackbeard.

His breath caught.

"No—"

He sat up, hand against his chest. He was shaking.

"No, no... I can’t."

Sakazuki didn’t move. There was no frustration. No disappointment in his eyes. Just alertness. Protection.

"Breathe, Kuzan. It’s over. I’m here."

He wrapped his arms around him. It wasn’t possessive—it was a shield. A warm armor. A promise.

Kuzan closed his eyes, tense. Shame clawed at him.

"I wanted to... I thought I could. But it comes back. It… eats at me."

"It’s not your fault," Sakazuki whispered, pressing his forehead to Kuzan’s. "It’s never your fault. You have nothing to prove. Nothing to force."

Silence.

Then Sakazuki added, even softer:

"We’ll never do anything you don’t want. Not tonight. Not ever. If you need me to just stay here… then I’ll stay. As long as it takes."

Kuzan slowly nodded, eyes wet.

"I need you. But… I need to have the right to say no. Even if I said yes at first."

"You have it."

Sakazuki kissed his forehead, then the corner of his eye, with infinite tenderness.

"You are alive, Kuzan. You are strong. You are free. And I love you. Even if you never want anything more than this."

Kuzan broke into soft sobs. Not from pain. Not from fear.

Just overwhelmed.

He buried his face into Sakazuki’s chest, clutching his arms like an anchor. And Sakazuki stayed there, awake, gently rocking him, whispering little nothings into his hair.

"I’m here. You’re safe. You are loved."

And that night, among dark memories and lingering shadows, it was true.

Kuzan was not broken.

He was healing. Slowly, but surely.

And he was no longer alone.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

It had been several nights now.

That spike of heat. That buzzing between his thighs. That slow, burning fire, sparked by kisses too gentle and caresses too patient.

Kuzan had tried to ignore it at first. He told himself it was just hormones. He even wanted to laugh it off — he wasn’t the kind of guy to lose his mind over a kiss on the neck.

But that night, it became impossible.

He was lying against Sakazuki, shirtless, the blanket half-slipped over his rounded belly. Sakazuki was stroking his hip, slowly, absentmindedly, his fingers tracing the curves of Kuzan’s body with a softness that almost felt shy.

And Kuzan felt his clit throb, sharp and sensitive to the point of trembling.

“Tch…”

He inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the heat between his legs. But his underwear was already damp. And Sakazuki, even as clumsy as he could be, noticed.

His eyes landed on him — hesitant, never intrusive.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, voice deep but low. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Kuzan shook his head, cheeks flushed.

“No… It’s not that.”

He bit his lip, then closed his eyes a moment before daring to add:

“I want you. And I’m scared too. I… I’m fucking lost.”

Sakazuki moved closer, slowly. His hands hadn’t moved. He hadn’t touched more than he should.

“You don’t have to choose between the two. It’s okay to want. And it’s okay to be scared. I’m here to listen. Not to take.”

Kuzan looked down.

“You know what’s down there. You know it’s not…”

“It’s you,” Sakazuki cut in, simply. “It’s your body. Your sex. Your pleasure. Not a burden. Not a mistake.”

Kuzan took a deep breath.

“I’m wet. I want you to touch me. But I need you to do it like I’m… a man.”

Sakazuki leaned in gently. His gaze was steady. Not disgusted. Not curious. Just… respectful.

“You are a man. I want you. Not what’s between your legs. I want to make you feel good. However you want. However you need.”

A long shiver ran through Kuzan. He took Sakazuki’s hand and slowly guided it between his thighs, over the soaked fabric.

“There… gently. Like that.”

And Sakazuki obeyed.

His fingers were slow, cautious, gliding over Kuzan’s sex without pressing too hard, searching for reactions, for breath. When Kuzan gasped — a sharp breath, almost surprised by the wave of pleasure — Sakazuki leaned in to kiss his neck, his shoulders, never rushing.

“Does this feel good?”

“Mmmh… yeah… fuck, yeah.”

There was only gentleness. Only respect. And that night, Kuzan felt both desired… and safe. Loved for everything he was.

---

Kuzan was panting, head tilted back, sheets wrinkled around him. The top of his pajamas had slipped down, his chest bare and glistening with a light sweat. His rounded belly, veined and firm, trembled with each breath. Sakazuki’s hand was between his thighs, his fingers gliding tenderly over his clit, never too hard, never too fast. He wasn’t exploring like one explores a mystery — he touched like one listens. Kuzan needed a second orgasm, and Sakazuki gave it to him.

“Tell me if you want more,” Sakazuki murmured, his voice rough but calm.

“There… keep going like that… just there.” Kuzan arched his back, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Don’t stop.”

One leg bent, the other stretched out, and Sakazuki, still clothed, sat close to him, attentive to every breath, every shiver. Kuzan led. And Sakazuki followed.

“Do you touch yourself like this often?” Sakazuki asked, not to provoke, but to understand him better.

Kuzan chuckled between short moans.

“Not for a while… I didn’t feel like it. But now… it’s different. Because it’s you. Because you don’t look at me like I’m… broken.”

Sakazuki looked at him. His hand kept moving — slow, precise. He spoke quietly, but with certainty.

“You’re not broken. You’re a strong, beautiful man, and you deserve to be turned on. You deserve to be touched. And I want you to come on my fingers. Because you’re mine.”

Kuzan shuddered. That word — mine — triggered a delicious spasm that drew a moan from him.

“Again… say that again…”

Sakazuki leaned close to his ear, his voice deep and slow:

“You’re mine. This body, this pleasure… it’s yours, but I honor it. I want you. Not what’s between your legs. Just you.”

Kuzan’s hips rocked against his hand. His clit, now hard and pulsing, was hypersensitive under the caresses. Slick fluid soaked the already drenched fabric of his shorts.

“I’m gonna—” he panted, “keep going, fuck, Sakazuki…”

And he came.

Not in a cry, but in an intense wave, muffled in the admiral’s shoulder, his body tensing all at once, then completely melting, sweaty, vibrating, trembling with relief. Sakazuki slowed down immediately. He held him close, not moving, his hand still resting there — warm, gentle. He kissed his forehead.

“Was it good?”

Kuzan nodded, breathless. He closed his eyes.

“It was more than good… It was me. Like I’ve never been allowed to be.”

A peaceful pause.

“Thank you.”

Sakazuki didn’t answer. He just held him tighter.

---

Kuzan was lying down, his head resting on Sakazuki’s shoulder, still warm from his orgasm. His eyelids heavy, his breathing slow. One arm lay across his belly, the other on his partner’s chest. The silence was soft. Reassuring. Sakazuki, still half-sitting, ran his fingers through Kuzan’s dark curls with unexpected tenderness. He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t want to break anything. Or rush. Then, after a long moment:

“If you ever want again… another day, or even soon, you can tell me.”

Kuzan looked up without lifting his head, one eyebrow half-raised.

“Hm?”

“I mean… If you want me to do it again. Touch you. Or if you want…” He hesitated a bit, the words too specific on his tongue. He looked away, almost sheepish. “...me to make you feel good another way. With my mouth, for example.”

A rough, tired chuckle.

“You mean a blowjob? Cunnilingus?”

Sakazuki let out a short breath, slightly embarrassed.

“I didn’t know if you liked that word. Or if you preferred another.”

Kuzan studied him for a moment. Then replied with quiet honesty:

“I don’t need you to talk to me like I’m made of glass. But I do need you to talk to me like I’m a man. And that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Sakazuki nodded.

“I want to do this right. Without ever dragging you back to what you’ve been through.”

Then his voice deepened, rougher:

“I’m not the best when it comes to talking about sex. I don’t have the noblest image of it.”

Kuzan turned his head, curious.

“Go on.”

Sakazuki took a breath. His words came slowly. As if they burned on the way out.

“When I was younger… there was rage in the way I touched. I liked control. Domination. Sometimes I was rough. Too rough. I didn’t want to hear objections. And those who gave themselves to me… I think they were more afraid than aroused.”

He clenched his jaw.

“With time, I understood that wasn’t sex. That was violence. Even if there were no screams, no refusals… it wasn’t shared desire.”

A silence. Sakazuki was still looking at the ceiling. Kuzan placed a hand on his cheek, gently. The contact was warm. Intimate.

“And now?”

“Now… I want you to choose. Your pace. Your desires. And I’ll follow. Not to make amends. But because you’ve been through enough horror. And you deserve better. Something real. Something tender.”

Kuzan didn’t answer right away. He just gently stroked Sakazuki’s rough jaw, his gaze softened by emotion.

“You don’t have to be perfect. Just be you. Like you’ve been. And… I won’t hesitate to tell you what I like.”

Sakazuki finally turned to him. Their eyes met. Then their lips brushed — a kiss more timid than the ones before, almost chaste.

“Then tell me,” Sakazuki murmured against his mouth. “Do you want to sleep… or want me to start again?”

Kuzan laughed softly.

“Both. But first… hold me.”

And Sakazuki pulled him close. No roughness. Just one man holding another. In the dark, between breath and sweat, a bond was strengthening. Slowly. Steadily. Like a rock amidst the storms.

*-*-*

Chapter Text

The plan had been simple: observe a document exchange in a tavern near the port, then retreat discreetly. But when the rain started pouring, Koby had ended up pushed against the wall of an old hotel, soaked to the bone. The place didn’t ask questions — perfect for an Emperor making a discreet visit, and his "young Marine contact."

The room was dark, old, but clean. The air smelled of damp wood and hand-washed sheets. And Koby, cheeks flushed red, stood at the foot of the bed. His hair was a mess. His shirt clung to his skin from the rain. He couldn’t meet the gaze of the man in front of him.

Shanks had removed his cape. Shirtless, he stepped closer with that half-smile — dangerous and tender at once. He lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from Koby’s forehead.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured.

“It’s… it’s nothing, I—”

Shanks placed a finger on his lips.

“You can be strong out there, Koby. But in here… you can let me do everything. Okay?”

Koby nodded. His face was now beet red. Shanks placed his hands on his hips, caressing slowly through the soaked fabric. Then, with a soft motion, he kissed him. Not a rushed kiss, no. A kiss full of patience. He gently nibbled on his lip, sliding his hand up to the back of his neck.

When their tongues met, Koby gasped softly, surprised by the intensity of his own desire.

“You drive me crazy,” Shanks sighed against his mouth. “You don’t even know what you do to me when you look at me like that.”

Koby clung to his shoulders, breath short.

“You’re too… too good for me.”

“Hm. I’m an old, dangerous pirate with a lot of money, and you’re beautiful, loyal, and as obedient as a dream. You think I don’t want to have all of you, huh?”

Shanks’ fingers slid between the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. Koby was panting, cheeks burning.

“Let yourself go,” murmured Shanks, slipping his warm hand under the fabric to stroke his skin from stomach to chest. “Tonight… I’m taking care of you.”

He guided him to the bed gently. Koby let himself fall onto it, heart pounding. Shanks leaned over him, kissing every inch of his bare skin, slowly, methodically. He trailed down his stomach, caressing his thighs, biting the insides with a pleased smile as he heard Koby’s stifled whimpers.

“Tell me what you want, bunny.”

“T-Touch me… I just want you to stay… inside me. Make me feel like I’m yours…”

Shanks looked up at him, breathing faster.

“You are mine, Koby. No one else’s. I’d buy a thousand nights like this if I had to.”

He gently stroked his sex, moving agonizingly slow, tracing the lines of his skin with his tongue, stopping before fully kissing it.

“Shanks—!”

“Say it.”

“I want you… Daddy.”

Shanks growled softly, eyes flaring.

“That’s better.”

What came next was a long moment of worship: his hands, his mouth, his entire body devoted to Koby’s pleasure. No rush — just tenderness and fire intertwined. When Koby finally came, fingers clenched in the sheets, panting his name, Shanks lay beside him, stroking his hips.

“Did I tell you you’re perfect?” he murmured into his neck.

“At least five times…” Koby groaned, smiling despite himself.

“I’ll say it again tomorrow. And the day after. And when you’re in uniform, pretending to be all proper.”

Koby chuckled softly, snuggling into his chest.

“I’m not that disobedient…”

“Hm. Not yet. But I’ll train you, you’ll love it.”

And Koby, against all better judgment, felt his heart beat faster.

---

The sky was shrouded in a gray veil, and the sea seemed frozen under the thick mist that cloaked the unnamed island their intel had led them to. An abandoned base, maybe, or a former exchange outpost. Whatever it was, Shanks could smell the familiar scent of danger.

At his side, Koby walked silently, sword at his hip, jacket open over his Marine shirt. His eyes swept over the ruins, tense, professional.

“You really think Teach came through here?” he asked without turning.

Shanks smiled. One hand in his pocket, perfectly relaxed despite the eerie atmosphere.

“I feel it in the air. He always leaves a particular stink behind.” He leaned toward Koby, lips curled in a playful smile. “But don’t worry, bunny, I’ll protect you.”

Koby sighed, blushing again despite himself. “Could you not use that nickname while we’re on a mission…?”

“Never,” replied Shanks cheerfully, patting his head. “Too cute.”

They explored the ruins of an old building, moving cautiously. Koby spotted recent footprints, half-erased by sand and moisture.

“Three men. And another, heavier. Maybe Burgess.” Koby crouched down, observing carefully.

“Not bad,” murmured Shanks. “You’ve got sharp eyes. That’s why I love you.”

“Shanks…” Koby muttered, cheeks reddening.

Shanks crouched beside him, shoulder brushing his. “You know we make a good team, right?”

Koby sighed. “You say that because I’m helping you track your old nemesis?”

“I say it because you impress me. Every time. A little more.”

They looked at each other. Just a few seconds. But Koby’s eyes, despite the tension, shone with calm confidence — the kind he used to only feel in heroic speeches, and now felt beside this man, both mad and protective.

A noise.
Koby sprang up, sword ready. But it was just a bird.

Shanks sighed, hand resting on his katana. “Not this time. He must’ve moved on. Shall we?”

“Yeah.” Koby shot him a serious glance. “And the next time you call me ‘bunny’ while I’m interrogating a pirate, I’m filing a disciplinary report.”

“You know I’d love that.”

“I know,” muttered Koby, elbowing him. They walked off, side by side, into the shifting shadow of Blackbeard.

---

“Secure Transmission – Marineford HQ – Priority Channel Level 1”

The Den Den Mushi slowly comes to life, taking on Koby’s tense expression. A smudge of soot on his cheek, a bandage on his head — he’d clearly been through action.

“Agent Koby reporting. Fleet Admiral Sakazuki, Vice Admiral Kuzan. We’ve found a solid lead on Blackbeard.”

In the background, a low laugh… Shanks.

“Two of his men were located and neutralized on an uncharted island in the Mist Sea. Confirmed IDs: Doc Q and Avalo Pizarro.”

He straightens up, firmer.

“Shanks confronted them directly. He was… efficient.”

Shanks’ voice from off-screen, loud: “I just sliced them up a bit! Nothing too serious, right, bunny?”

Koby stiffens and smiles awkwardly at the Den Den Mushi.

“The interrogation provided several coordinates. Blackbeard appears to be traveling aboard a modified submarine. We also learned he’s still looking to recover a ‘forgotten’ power. Possibly a Devil Fruit.”

Shanks’ voice again: “Or maybe a baby! What? Too soon for jokes?”

Koby (looking mortified): “We’ve sent the exact data to the Cross Guild through a secure channel. Mihawk acknowledged receipt. Buggy… sent an emoji.”

Sakazuki, off-screen, murmurs: “…A what?”

“Nothing. Forget it. The joint plan is moving forward. Targets are isolated. Blackbeard seems… nervous.”

A pause, then Koby lowers his head slightly, more serious:

“I’ll report any movement. I’m staying undercover with— with Captain Red-Hair.”

Shanks closer this time: “Tell your boss I gave you a warm meal and a hot bath. And that you sleep very well. Very well.”

“I… I’m cutting the call. For technical reasons. Over and out.”

The Den Den Mushi cuts abruptly, but not fast enough to stop one last voice from Shanks, yelling:

“I GAVE HIM A SILK BLANKET TOO, AKAINU-SAN!”

Beep.

---

The Den Den Mushi just shut with a little beep.

Sakazuki stands behind his desk, arms crossed, face impassive… or almost. Kuzan, sitting across from him, sipping iced tea, his belly rounded from pregnancy, is trying — and failing — not to laugh.

“A silk blanket, huh? That’s luxury for a recon mission,” Kuzan says calmly.

Sakazuki doesn’t answer. His jaw tightens.

“I’m going to burn his curtains.”

“Jealous, Akainu?”

“This is a military operation. Not a honeymoon.”

He nervously traces a finger across the wall-mounted map. Several red pins mark Blackbeard’s last known movements.

“Blackbeard’s in a submarine. If he thinks that’ll help him escape, he’s underestimating our allies.”

“Doc Q and Pizarro neutralized… it’s starting to look like a targeted extermination. Who’s left?”

“Sanjuan Wolf, Laffitte, Stronger — if he’s still alive. And Blackbeard. The core.”

Kuzan sets down his cup, gaze more serious.

“When it’s his turn… who do you want it to be, Sakazuki?”

“Me.” He turns to Kuzan, eyes hard. “I let him live years ago. I let him take you. It’s my job to finish this.”

Kuzan says nothing at first. Then exhales slowly, hand on his belly.

“In that case… we’d better make sure he doesn’t escape again.”

“He won’t have anywhere left to run.”

A short silence. Then Kuzan can’t help but ask, almost teasing:

“So… you think Koby knows his guy is trolling you every time he calls?”

Sakazuki growls.

“He’s not his guy. He’s a Yonko on a mission… too touchy.”

“Doesn’t sound like it, with the amount of times he calls him bunny,” Kuzan smirks.

“I’m planting a surveillance Den Den Mushi in their rooms.” Sakazuki glares.

“Romantic,” Kuzan snorts, amused.

---

The room is cast in semi-darkness, lit only by a hanging lantern. The air reeks of dampness, sweat, and dried blood. Blackbeard sits on a makeshift throne: an old, bullet-riddled leather armchair. In front of him, one of his last remaining officers, panting and bloodied.

Silence hangs heavy.
One of Blackbeard’s hands trembles slightly on the armrest. The other crushes a crumpled newspaper page.

"SHIRYU: KILLED BY MIHAWK.
VAN AUGUR: DEFEATED BY SHANKS.
DOC Q: CAPTURED.
PIZARRO: MISSING.
SANJUAN WOLF: UNTRACEABLE."

And on a more recent page, a massive headline:

"BUGGY THE EMPEROR EXECUTES BLACKBEARD SPIES ON HIS ISLANDS. A BLOODY WARNING."

Blackbeard suddenly bursts into a grotesque, broken, hysterical laugh. He throws the paper down and stomps on it.

“AHAHAHAHAHAH! You believe that clown is the one who impaled my men?! HUH?! THAT CLOWN?!”

His officer says nothing. One wrong word means death.

Teach leans forward slowly, eyes vacant. His gaze is wild. Trembling.

“Mihawk, Crocodile, Buggy, Shanks… even the Marines… even that bastard Sakazuki… all against me. All of them.”

He grits his teeth, leaps up, and hurls a table at the wall, shattering a rum bottle.

“WHO warned them?! WHO brought them together?!”

He thinks. Then his eyes darken. A name rises. Kuzan.
He clenches his fists so tightly his nails dig into his palms.

“He survived… he told them everything…”

He collapses back into the chair, laughing again. Softer. Less confident.

“No matter… I still have power… I still have the Yami Yami no Mi… I still have contacts… I’m not done. I’m not done…”

But in the corner of the room, even his most loyal men avoid his gaze.
Fear is rising.
The air grows poisonous.

The legend of Blackbeard is crumbling… slowly… under the weight of the world.

And for the first time…
he doubts.

---

Chapter Text

THE GRAND NEW WORLD GAZETTE

SPECIAL EDITION – MAXIMUM TENSION ON THE SEAS!

---

AOKIJI PREGNANT WITH FLEET ADMIRAL SAKAZUKI’S CHILD?!

A bombshell revelation shakes the walls of Marine Headquarters!

According to internal sources — highly placed but wishing to remain anonymous — former Admiral Aokiji, who has mysteriously returned to the ranks of the Marines, is reportedly pregnant with Fleet Admiral Sakazuki’s child, also known as Akainu. The two men have been spotted together on numerous occasions, and witnesses claim to have seen them in a… more than intimate posture in the HQ gardens.

Authorities refuse to comment. But in the corridors, the rumor spreads like wildfire:

“It’s real. And Akainu plans to take responsibility for the child.”

A story of redemption, love… or strategy?
Could the unborn child be a symbol of unity?
Or a tool in a hidden scheme against Blackbeard?

---

MISSING AND FEARED DEAD:

THE EMPEROR CLOWN: BUGGY THE GENIUS, GONE!

The Cross Guild is on high alert. For two days, there has been no sign of the legendary Buggy the Clown.
Mihawk and Crocodile remain silent. Some suggest a strategic retreat. Others fear a capture.

One thing is certain:
The Clown’s last laugh has fallen silent. And the world wants to know why…

---

NEW WAVE OF VIOLENCE:

TRAFALGAR D. LAW ATTACKED FROM THE DEPTHS!

The former Warlord’s submarine reportedly attacked a secondary fleet allied with Blackbeard near a nameless island. Witnesses describe a surgical assault with terrifying precision. The Surgeon of Death is said to have been accompanied by new allies — including several renowned pirate captains.

Shiryu is rumored to have fallen. So has Van Augur.

> Is Blackbeard’s fall already in motion?

---

A GLOBAL WAR ON THE HORIZON?

Between secret Marine alliances, wounded emperors, and old rivalries resurfacing, the world seems to teeter on the edge of chaos.

But one question is on everyone's lips:

What will become of the unborn child?
And what if this baby becomes the next mad Emperor’s target?

---

MARINE HQ – SAKAZUKI’S OFFICE

The Den Den Mushi crackles to life in Sakazuki’s office, his deep voice echoing — cold and controlled despite the visible irritation on his face.

"Is everyone connected? Good. You've read the paper."

Silence. Then a hesitant cough from Koby’s line, sounding utterly stressed out.

"That’s… quite a headline, Admiral…"

"It wasn’t meant to be PUBLIC. No one was supposed to know about Kuzan."

Kuzan, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, steps calmly toward the transponder snail, though visibly pale.

"It’s out. Someone opened their big mouth. Or… someone’s watching us very closely."

A heavy silence follows. Then Shanks’ relaxed voice cuts in:

"You know, I didn’t get a say in this whole ‘reveal’… but judging by how the article is written, I’d bet there’s a mole in HQ. And not an amateur."

"I warned you keeping Kuzan here wasn’t strategic. Not while he’s carrying that child."
Crocodile’s voice was rough and blunt.

"But it was necessary. What did you want? To hide him in a cave until he gives birth?"
Mihawk remained neutral.

"Security was supposed to be tight. Things have changed now. The target isn’t just us. It’s also the baby."

Koby, nervously:

"And Buggy?! Why is no one talking about Buggy?! His disappearance isn’t normal, and the Cross Guild is way too quiet…"

Crocodile, with a rough sigh:

"Buggy left the island without notice. He said something about ‘fixing an injustice.’ I suspect he went off on a solo mission."

Mihawk lowers his eyes, visibly weary:

"He tends to throw himself into danger when he feels he’s not living up to his image. And with those heads on spikes... I think he’s trying to send a message to Blackbeard."

Shanks, amused but serious:

"Well, message received. The whole world is talking about an ‘open hunt’ against Teach."

"Exactly. Which means we need to organize." replies Sakazuki.

---

MEETING OBJECTIVES ANNOUNCED:

Reinforced protection and secrecy around Kuzan’s movements.

Locate Buggy alive — ASAP — to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.

Shanks and Koby to pursue Blackbeard’s trail in Grand Line.

Mihawk and Crocodile to control Cross Guild borders and filter outgoing media leaks.

---

"As of today, the birth of this child is a military matter. If Blackbeard gets his hands on Kuzan — even dead — the world collapses."

Kuzan, calmly:

"He won’t get me. Not while I have you."

Then Shanks, with a small laugh:

"That’s cute. Almost sounds like a family."

"Shut up, Red-Hair."
Crocodile growled harshly.

Mihawk, with a rare, faint smile:

"…But he’s not wrong."

---

Chapter Text

The lair was dark, damp, echoing constantly with chains, muffled screams, and ragged breaths.
The hidden hideout of the last remaining followers of Blackbeard. Buggy, emperor of the known world, had been dragged there — wounded, tied up — or so it seemed — by survivors of Teach’s crew.

He smiled.
Not because he felt safe. But because he had nothing left to lose.
A heavy door creaked open.

And Blackbeard entered.

His infamous laugh preceded his shadow.
His massive frame filled the room.
His eyes gleamed with a carnivorous light.

“GYAHAHAHA!! So it’s true… Buggy the Clown became an emperor! And he thought he could challenge me? What an absurd world, huh?”

“You talk a lot for a man who’s lost his entire crew…”

Teach’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ve got guts… or you’re just stupid. Your men abandoned you? Crocodile? Mihawk? Even that damn redhead Shanks left you?”

Buggy sat up, despite the chains.

“They’re looking for me. They’ll find me. And you… you’ve only got corpses around you. You’ve lost, Teach. Even Law took a bite out of you.”

“I’M STILL ALIVE!!”
A wave of darkness burst from his body. Shadows crept toward Buggy, wrapping around his legs, arms, neck.

But…

The chains fell.
Buggy exploded. Literally.
His torso floated above the ground, his arms shot out like bullets.

“You really thought you could hold me with normal chains? I’m the damn man who CAN’T BE CUT!”

He flew around the room, smashing torches, blinding the surrounding men.
Blackbeard, furious, roared:

“YAMI NO KURAU!”
The shadows formed a vortex, sucking in everything around…
But Buggy’s body parts whizzed in all directions, unpredictable.

A leg strangled him from behind.
An arm knocked him on the back of the head.

“I might be a clown, but you know what clowns always had? The worst surprises!”

Teach roared, slamming the floor.

“GURA GURA NO… PUNCH!!”

A seismic wave swept across the room.
The ceiling cracked.
The floor shattered.
Buggy was thrown against a wall.
Blood on his lip.
He spat. And stood back up.

“You think you’re the only one who can scare people? The whole damn world wants your head, Teach. You might kill me. But after me, it’ll be Mihawk. Then Law. Then Shanks. Then the Marines. Hell, even village clowns will come after you if they have to.”

He extended a trembling arm, his fingers gleaming with steel — his miniature daggers, hidden blades. He’d kept everything.

“And I swear… I’ll be the one who looked you in the eyes before your fall.”

A silence.
Then…
A laugh.

“GYAHAHAHA! YOU AMUSE ME! I won’t kill you just yet, Buggy. No… you’ll watch this world burn with me. And when I destroy Marineford… you’ll be chained at my feet.”

He reached for him.

At that exact moment — a sudden tremor, a blade sliced through the air.

The door exploded.

“You won’t touch him.”

Crocodile. Mihawk.
And behind them, a blazing figure, red cape billowing: Shanks.

Buggy dropped to his knees, smiling.

“Holy shit. I hit the jackpot…”

---

The ground shook. The air vibrated. Even the atmosphere seemed fractured.

Buggy laughed.
Not his scammer laugh. Not his nervous one.
A laugh of victory. Of madness. Of an Emperor Clown.

Around him, the environment had exploded into fragments — walls, floor, air — all shattered into floating pieces, suspended like a nightmare painting. Massive chunks of rock and wood levitated in a grotesque ballet, orbiting around him like projectiles ready to rain down.

Blackbeard stepped back — for the first time, surprised.
And then…

“Bara Bara no Mi... AWAKENING!!”

He spread his arms, fracturing the air itself, a shattered wave spreading in concentric circles. The remaining members of Blackbeard’s crew screamed, caught in a storm of blades, debris, dismembered fragments all controlled by Buggy — a clown in apotheosis.
Crocodile, at his side, sighed in satisfaction and finished off the survivors. His arms turned to sand, his fingers to slicing blades, and he drained a pirate alive, turning him to dust.

“See that, Teach? Two Devil Fruits… and not even one awakening. Pathetic,” Crocodile mocked.

Buggy turned toward Teach, flashing a middle finger with a wild grin:

“Hey, asshole. You wanna wage war against the world and you can’t even understand your own power? You’re just a fat rat hooked on terror!”

“Kurozu!”

The darkness swirled, trying to pull him in.
But Buggy fragmented, laughing like a madman, using his awakening to blow apart his surroundings and propel himself with pieces of wall and air.

And then… the red light of Conqueror’s Haki swept away the darkness.

A blazing figure dropped from the sky in a fluid leap.

Shanks.
And beside him, Koby, sword drawn, blue eyes unwavering.

“You started shit without me again, Buggy.”

Buggy, breathless, smirked.

“Move your ass faster next time, bastard. I already lit the party.”

Koby, focused, spoke into a Den Den Mushi on his chest.

“Target located. Situation under control.”

A cold, gravelly voice answered from the other end.

The Fleet Admiral.

“Hold until I arrive. Don’t let that monster escape.”

And he came.
A pillar of magma erupted from a nearby hill.
A glowing form, cape snapping in the wind, walked toward the battlefield, each step melting the ground.

Sakazuki.
He stopped beside Buggy, without looking at him, arms crossed — a living volcano.

“You screamed loud, Clown.”

Buggy grinned savagely.

“I try my best. Want more?”

Sakazuki didn’t reply. He stared at Teach. He no longer saw an Emperor.
He saw the monster that had hurt Kuzan.

That had defiled what was his.

And without another word…
He raised his arm.

“Ryusei Kazan.” (Meteor Volcano)

The sky ignited.
Blackbeard screamed, summoning his shadows to counter.

But now…
He was surrounded.

Buggy, awakened, fragmenting reality.

Crocodile, the living desert.
Mihawk, in the shadows, blade already drawn.

Shanks, his Conqueror’s Haki suffocating.
Koby, sword at the ready.
Sakazuki, a blazing wrath.

Blackbeard screamed.
And the whole world… held its breath.

---

The battlefield was a wasteland.
The ground was nothing but fragments, ash, and blood.
The air burned.
Dust didn’t even settle.
Buggy’s awakening had shattered everything…
Then Sakazuki incinerated the rest.

And there, in the middle of the carnage—

“AH! TEAM OF BITCHES!”
Buggy yelled, arms wide in a grandiose, clownish gesture.

With a fluid motion, he detached his own head with a manic laugh, spinning it like an improvised mace before launching it like a living cannonball toward Blackbeard, already on his knees, covered in blood, crushed by Haki, sand, lava, and shame.

CRACK.
The sound of Teach’s body breaking like an overripe fruit.
Buggy reassembled midair with his awakening, glaring down.

“Huh? Who could’ve guessed?” he said mockingly. “An emperor taken down by a clown? Hope it hurt your ego as much as your spine, bastard.”

Crocodile behind him sighed, casually wiping his bloody, sandy gloves.

“Clown or not, he did what no one else had the balls to do.”

Shanks, arms crossed, nodded softly, gazing at Buggy with amused pride.

“Well done, Baggy. You finally shook the world your way.”

Then…
A heavy silence.
Everyone turned to Sakazuki.

The Fleet Admiral stepped forward.
His coat floated, heat waves distorting the air around him.
He hadn’t spoken a word during the final assault.
He didn’t need to.

Blackbeard… was dying.
Half-conscious. Barely breathing. Flesh melted, crushed, torn.

And without a word, Sakazuki raised his hand.

A glowing sphere of magma hovered.
Silence fell like a shroud.

“This isn’t the death I wanted for you. But who needs a coffin when I can cremate you myself?”
His voice was low. Calm. Almost disappointed.
“You didn’t deserve revenge. Or punishment. Or justice.”

He opened his fingers.

Lava fell like an apocalyptic wave, slowly covering the broken body of Blackbeard.
Every inch of flesh sizzled hideously.
There was no scream.
No strength left for that.
Just a sickening gurgle.
Then nothing.

A black crater, glowing with heat.
A magma shroud.
A definitive silence.

Sakazuki declared:

“This is not justice. Not even a sentence. This is what we do to trash — we incinerate it.”

Buggy, arms raised, shouted:

“FOR THE EMPEROR CLOWN!!”

Shanks laughed.
Koby, tears in his eyes, finally breathed.

Crocodile, silent, crossed his arms.
Mihawk, behind, slowly sheathed his sword.

The world had changed.

Teach, Blackbeard, the Emperor with two Devil Fruits, was dead.

And there would be no throne for him in the memory of those who remained.

--

Chapter Text

Sealed Room of the Five Elders

The flames of a censer burned slowly in the high chamber of Pangaea Castle. A glacial silence weighed heavily, broken only by the rustle of immaculate robes and the creaking joints of the Five Elders. At the center of the oval table, a large black Den Den Mushi transmitted the voice of the Fleet Admiral.

“Blackbeard is dead.” Sakazuki’s voice was sharp, without embellishment. “I killed him myself.”

One of the Elders gripped his string of prayer beads. Another folded his hands before his face.

“No survivors?”

“No witnesses?”

“No... confirmed alliance?”

Sakazuki answered slowly:

“There is no alliance. No one else was involved. The official report will state that I eliminated Blackbeard alone, in the name of absolute justice.”

“Very well,” declared the eldest. “We will bury any trace of collaboration. The public does not need to know that you fraternized with pirates.”

“And the press?” asked another.

“Already handled,” replied a third. “Tomorrow’s headline:
‘Fleet Admiral Sakazuki Strikes Down Blackbeard — Order Restored.’”

“And the debt?” growled one of the Elders, visibly irritated.

Sakazuki replied coldly: “I’ll pay what was promised. Personally, if I must.”

“The Government will not recognize any payment. No debts. Do what you want, but you’re on your own in this matter.”

“I’m fully aware.”

A heavy silence fell.
Then, more softly:

“And... Kuzan?”

Sakazuki’s voice remained calm, yet firm: “He is under my protection. And loyal. His record has been erased from enemy archives. If there are objections… you know where to find me.”

“That’s not the kind of threat we expect from the Fleet Admiral.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a guarantee.”

End of transmission.

---

The World Government buried all traces of the alliance between Sakazuki, the Cross Guild, and Shanks.
No name—Mihawk, Buggy, Crocodile, or Shanks—would ever be tied to Teach’s downfall.

The official story:
Blackbeard, struck down by the hand of Supreme Justice—alone and unaided.

But Sakazuki knew.
And those who fought knew.

And if Shanks or Crocodile ever came to collect what was owed…
He would honor his word. No matter what Mariejois said.

---

The soft light from the lamps bathed the room in a golden warmth. Sakazuki pushed the door open, still wearing his coat, his eyes heavy with exhaustion… but his shoulders lighter than they had been in years.

Blackbeard was no more.
He quietly closed the door behind him.

On the bed, propped up by soft pillows, Kuzan looked up. His rounded belly was visible beneath a loose T-shirt. He still looked a little pale—his emotions from earlier had yet to settle. The newspaper lay open beside him.

“So it was true,” he murmured. “It’s over.”

Sakazuki gave a simple nod.
Kuzan stared at him for a long moment, then reached out his hand.

“Come here.”

He obeyed silently.
Kuzan slid his hand behind his neck and pulled him down. The kiss was slow, gentle… but carried a new intensity.
Not a lover seeking pleasure—
A man giving thanks with all his heart.

“You did it,” he whispered against Sakazuki’s lips. “For me. For us.”

Sakazuki rested a hand on Kuzan’s trembling belly.

“I told you I wouldn’t let anyone take away what you have left.”

Another kiss, deeper this time. Kuzan gave a soft moan, sliding a leg over Sakazuki’s to pull him closer. He looked at him, a little more provocative than usual, with a tired smile.

“You want a real reward?”

Sakazuki frowned—not in rejection, but concern.

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to rest?”

“I’ve been turned on ever since I read you turned him to ash.” Kuzan ran a hand behind his neck, his gaze more tender than teasing. “Must be the hormones. Or just you.”

Sakazuki swallowed, then murmured:
“I’ll do whatever you want. But only if you say it clearly.”

Kuzan smiled. “Then lie down with me.”

They settled onto the bed, Sakazuki laying gently beside him, his body tight with restraint. Kuzan’s fingers traced his cheek, his chest, his belly—

Then lower.
Their kisses resumed—slower, needier, yet with a newfound gentleness they had learned together.

Sakazuki’s hands were careful, reverent, worshipping each breath Kuzan let out. Kuzan trembled, arching into the heat of his lover’s body, whispering into the night:

“Thank you… for setting me free.”

“It’s over now,” he murmured.
“No one will ever touch you again.”

Kuzan lay on his back, propped up by a cushion. He wasn’t sleeping. His fingers traced lazy patterns in the warm sheets. Beside him, Sakazuki’s heavy arm rested across his hip, his breathing slow, even, his face more peaceful than ever.

But in the silence of the room, a strange warmth stirred in Kuzan’s belly.
Not the first time since the pregnancy—
His hormones were a mess, his body demanding, sometimes with near-painful intensity.
He had ignored it. Resisted. Suppressed.
But here, in safety and intimacy, he wanted.
Him.
Sakazuki.

He turned his head gently, brushing a soft kiss to his partner’s jaw.

“Sakazuki…”

“Mmh?”

Kuzan slid a hand down the Fleet Admiral’s bare chest, his voice low, hesitant… but clear.

“I want you to take care of me. With more than just your fingers.”

A pause.
He raised his head, meeting Kuzan’s flushed cheeks, his breath already quickening, the need in his dark eyes.
Sakazuki leaned closer, his large hand slowly caressing Kuzan’s hip.

“Are you sure?”

Kuzan nodded. “Just you. Like this.”

A rare, almost tender smile touched Sakazuki’s lips.
He leaned against him, kissing him gently, his hand slipping beneath the covers, grazing the curve of his belly, the lines of his thighs.

“You’re beautiful…” he murmured against his lips. “So damn beautiful.”

Kuzan trembled, fingers gripping the sheets.
And Sakazuki moved lower. Slowly. Carefully. He didn’t rush. He had nothing to prove.
Only to listen—to every sigh Kuzan gave, every place he lingered, every touch he liked.
His lips and tongue explored with reverence.

No crude words.
No forced pace.
Just warmth. Respect. Contained desire.

When Kuzan arched silently, breath stolen by the climax, Sakazuki came back up, kissing him again—
Until the trembling subsided.
Until pleasure gave way to peace.

“Thank you… for being you.”

Sakazuki held him closer.

“Always.”

---

There was something strange—almost unreal—about this suspended moment.
That silence full of promises.
That calm before the storm.

Kuzan’s breathing was slow, steady, his legs parted under the covers.
His body was taut with excitement, not fear.
He wasn’t afraid. He felt good. Safe.

Sakazuki’s hands slipped under the sheets, trailing gently up his hips, over his belly.
He nestled between his thighs with deliberate care, pressing deeper into this intimacy they had built.
Kuzan sighed, threading his fingers through the Admiral’s dark hair.
His heart beat fast.
Too fast.
But it wasn’t panic—
Not this time.

Sakazuki’s warm breath ghosted over his skin.
Then he pressed a kiss—soft, reverent—against Kuzan’s clitoris.
Like a request for permission.

Kuzan didn’t answer aloud—
But his body did. His hips lifted slightly, his hands gripped the blanket tighter.
He wanted more.

A smile brushed Sakazuki’s lips. Small, genuine.
He took his time—
Tongue tracing slow circles, fingers brushing tense curves.
Gentle.
Burning.

He didn’t seek to claim.
He gave.

Kuzan’s breath quickened, soft moans slipping from his lips.
He felt exposed. Vulnerable.
But never in danger.
Sakazuki didn’t treat him like something to take.
He treated him like a man.
Whole.
Desirable.
Respected.

A soft thump in his belly.
The baby.
Sakazuki paused, surprised, hand resting against the taut skin.
Then gently laid his palm there, soothing.
His smile softened, eyes shining with unspoken tenderness.

Then he resumed.
No urgency. Just warmth. Shared intimacy.
Tongue precise. Attentive.
Kuzan arched, muscles taut, breath breaking with rising pleasure—

And when it hit—
It hit like a wave.
His back arched. Fingers clenched the sheets.
He cried out softly, panting, eyes half-lidded.
Sweat pearled at his temples, his legs trembled—
But he felt good.
Really good.

Sakazuki slowly rose, kissing his belly, his chest, finally laying beside him again.
One arm curled around him, drawing him close.

He hadn’t spoken.
But everything was said—
In the way he had touched him.
In the warmth of his hand on Kuzan’s belly.
In the pride of offering a moment of peace.

And for Kuzan—
That wasn’t nothing.
That was everything.

---

Chapter Text

Kuzan was sitting on the couch, a balanced (and far too generous) plate on his lap. He was wearing one of Sakazuki’s shirts — a large, navy blue one, with sleeves too long for his arms and the fabric stretched slightly over his clearly rounded belly. At eight months, there was no more doubt: he was carrying life, and he could feel it.

Sakazuki returned from the kitchen with a second tray.

"Again?" Kuzan grumbled, frowning, but without any real hostility.

"You didn’t finish your full-fat yogurt this morning. And the nurse said you need to maintain constant calorie intake."

He placed the tray in front of him like he was delivering a precious package. Kuzan sighed, rolled his eyes… but still took a bite. He couldn’t say no when Sakazuki looked at him like that, arms crossed, ready to scold an admiral over a missed serving of vegetables.

"I’ve already gained twenty-three kilos. You want me to float more than a battleship?"

Sakazuki didn’t reply. He slowly sat next to him and slid a hand to the small of his back, massaging gently. Kuzan sighed in relief.

"I just want you to be healthy. You and the baby."

Kuzan murmured, "You know you're worse than a nurse?"

"And yet you’re still wearing my shirts."

Kuzan shot him an amused look. "That’s because I’ve burst out of all my clothes. And because it smells like you."

Sakazuki looked away, a bit embarrassed, but not unhappy. His hand continued gently rubbing Kuzan’s back, right where the tension had become painful. Eight months... he felt it more every day: the fatigue, the broken sleep, the aches, the contractions. But he rarely complained.

The house, on the other hand, was coming along. Sakazuki had chosen it on the newly rebuilt section of Marineford. A spacious home, with a small garden. Far from the military quarters. He had thought of everything: the baby’s room, a recliner, thermal curtains, even a library in the living room so Kuzan could read during feedings. He had planned it all — except maybe... the color of the curtains.

Kuzan, eyes half-closed under the massage, whispered in a tired voice:

"I can’t wait. To be there. To be with you... and him."

Sakazuki leaned in and kissed his temple.

"Just a bit more patience. You’re not alone."

And as Kuzan took a few more bites, Sakazuki stayed there, his hand on his back, eyes fixed on the belly that sometimes gave small kicks. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he already loved that child. Because he was Kuzan’s. And because, no matter what, he would be there for them both.

---

The room was cool, bathed in a bright white light that was almost aggressive. The nurse was methodically checking boxes on a med-snail chart as Kuzan, chest covered only by one of Sakazuki’s half-buttoned shirts, slowly settled on the exam table.

"You’re exactly eight months along, Mr. Kuzan," she said professionally as she adjusted her scan-snail. "And you’ve gained... twenty-four kilos."

"Impressive, isn’t it?" Kuzan muttered, crossing his arms over his belly. "I could blend into an iceberg."

The nurse raised an eyebrow but didn’t break her composure. "That’s on the higher end, but given the situation... it's actually encouraging. The baby’s moving well?"

"He’s been boxing with my ribs for three days."

She nodded like that was the best news, then ran the snail scanner over Kuzan’s belly. Irregular, rhythmic noises filled the room: a heartbeat, fast and alive.

Sakazuki, leaning against the wall near the door, watched in silence. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, he said nothing — but he was there. As always. And the nurse noticed.

"You’re very diligent, Fleet Admiral," she said with a slight smirk.

Sakazuki grunted, a bit uncomfortable. "It’s none of your business."

"Hm-hm." She noted something in her notebook. "And stress levels, Mr. Kuzan? Trouble sleeping? Any anxiety?"

Kuzan shrugged. "Normal, right? I’ve got a baby in my belly, my back hurts, I can’t tie my shoes anymore, and my partner feeds me rice like a holiday goose."

Sakazuki, frowning: "You skipped your snack yesterday."

The nurse let out a small laugh — quiet, but audible.

"For sleep, you can drink a suitable herbal tea. And go for short walks every day, without overdoing it. The baby’s well positioned, anyway. And your vitals are excellent."

Kuzan exhaled slowly, despite himself feeling relieved.

"So everything’s okay?"

She nodded. "The baby is strong. Just like you."

Kuzan looked down at his belly, a small, tired smile on his lips. Sakazuki stepped forward without a word, placing a hand on Kuzan’s shoulder. Silent. Steady.

The nurse closed her notebook.

"Next appointment in a week. Rest, hydrate, and be patient. And if you feel regular contractions or any unusual pain, call me."

Kuzan nodded. Then, glancing at Sakazuki:

"See? I’ve still got time before I lay an egg."

Sakazuki rolled his eyes, but his faint smile said it all.

---

The HQ door closed softly behind them. The residential hallway was silent, bathed in golden evening light. Kuzan walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back, his rounded belly stretching the (very oversized) white shirt of Sakazuki. His shoulders slumped with fatigue, his back aching.

Sakazuki, as always, followed close behind. Not too clingy, not too distant.

Once inside their temporary quarters, he disappeared briefly into the kitchen. When he returned, he held a large glass of water in one hand and a warm towel in the other.

"Sit down," he ordered gently.

Kuzan raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you offer five-star service?"

Sakazuki calmly set the glass on the coffee table. "Since you’re swollen like a melon and can’t bend without groaning."

Kuzan chuckled, settling onto the couch with effort. "Charming."

Sakazuki knelt in front of him, slowly unfolded the warm towel, and placed it carefully on the small of his back, over the fabric. Kuzan sighed instantly, eyes closing despite himself.

"...You’ve got hidden talents."

"It’s logistics. You’re a construction project all by yourself."

A quiet silence followed. Sakazuki stayed there for a moment, kneeling, his strong hands gently pressing the towel to ease the tense muscles.

Then, he murmured:

"You want a massage?"

Kuzan cracked an eye open. "You’re offering?"

"I’m not saying I’m an expert. But I read a couple things in the manual the nurse gave me."

Kuzan leaned back into the couch, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Go ahead. Impress me."

Sakazuki slowly slid his hands down his sides, movements a bit hesitant but careful. He always avoided the lower belly, as if afraid to jostle something. Kuzan let out a long sigh, his neck falling back, eyes closed.

"Not bad, Admiral."

"I’m doing my best."

"You should open a spa. Steam & Supreme."

Sakazuki growled in response, but the light pressure of his fingers gave away his silent laugh.

They stayed like that for a while. No words needed. Just soft sighs, the warmth of the towel, the slow rhythm of their breathing.

Then, Sakazuki placed a small kiss on Kuzan’s bare shoulder, without a word. A sign of presence. Of affection. Of gratitude.

And Kuzan, eyes still closed, whispered simply:

"Thank you. For being here."

Sakazuki didn’t answer. He just gently hugged him from behind, one hand sliding over the round belly with timid tenderness.

He wasn’t good with words. But he was here. Always.

---

Dinner was ready. Nothing fancy — but Kuzan liked it that way. Rice, sautéed vegetables with a bit of meat in a mild sauce, all served in two large bowls. Sakazuki had even included the nurse-recommended foods. He didn’t say it, but it showed in the way he watched every bite Kuzan took.

Kuzan had rolled up the sleeves of the white shirt he had stolen, his round belly straining the fabric a little. He sat down slowly, placing his hands on the table with a sigh of relief.

"I’m hungry, but I’m already tired from moving..."

"You walked ten minutes."

"Exactly. Exhausting."

Sakazuki pursed his lips, but his gaze stayed gentle. He handed Kuzan his chopsticks, already placed in the correct hand without thinking. A habit. A sign that he knew every one of Kuzan’s gestures.

They ate in silence for a while. Kuzan nibbled happily, eyes half-closed, then leaned his head against Sakazuki’s shoulder after finishing his bowl.

"You think this baby will have my personality?"

Sakazuki raised an eyebrow. "I hope not."

"Why?"

"Because I won’t survive two stubborn idiots."

Kuzan chuckled softly, then slowly sat up. His back protested, his belly was heavy, but he felt good. Safe. He raised his arms.

"Come on. Carry me."

"You can walk."

"Yeah, but you’re better at carrying."

Theatrical sigh. But Sakazuki got up and, without a word, slipped an arm under his legs, the other around his back. Kuzan clung to his neck, laughing softly.

"I weigh a ton."

"I’ve carried worse."

He gently laid him on the bed, then turned off the lights. Only the sheer curtains let in a bit of night light. He lay beside him, in a tank top, hair still damp from his earlier shower.

Kuzan slowly turned, curling up against him, his round belly pressed between them. He threw a leg over Sakazuki’s hip, seeking his warmth.

"You smell good."

"It’s soap."

"Better than magma."

Sakazuki growled softly but immediately wrapped his strong arms around him. One hand rested carefully on Kuzan’s belly, gently caressing the tight skin through the fabric. The baby kicked — a discreet but real presence. They both froze, silent.

Then Sakazuki murmured in a low voice:

"I still can’t believe it’s really going to happen."

Kuzan closed his eyes, his forehead against his lover’s burning chest.

"Me neither. But... I think I’m ready. If it’s with you."

A long silence. Then a kiss on the top of his head — slow, deliberate, full of emotion.

Sakazuki couldn’t say the words. But he put them into every gesture.

Kuzan, finally, closed his eyes for real. Heavy. Calm. Loved.

And in that suspended bubble, halfway between war and peace, between painful past and uncertain future, they found a perfect moment.

Just the two of them.
And the one on the way.

---

Chapter Text

The morning was quiet. Too quiet, even, for a military base. But in this room, the world seemed to have stopped.
Kuzan was slouched on the couch, a pillow tucked against the small of his back, one hand resting on his tight belly. He was still wearing one of Sakazuki’s T-shirts – too wide at the shoulders, but barely covering his swollen stomach.
Sakazuki arrived with two cups of light tea. He sat down beside him, handed him one silently, then settled next to him, an arm sliding behind his shoulders. They stayed like that for several minutes, the soothing silence broken only by the faint morning sounds.

Kuzan broke the silence, his voice deep and calm, but tinged with a hint of nervousness:

“In two weeks… maybe three…”

Sakazuki didn’t answer right away, but his hand slowly ran down Kuzan’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t need to ask. He knew what he meant.
Kuzan continued, more softly:

“I’m not afraid of the pain. But… I think I’m scared something might go wrong. Or… that I won’t be good enough.”

Sakazuki answered after a long, thoughtful pause:
“You will be enough. You already are. And I’ll be here. Even if all I do is sit there and hold your hand, I’m not going anywhere.”

Kuzan slowly nodded, his fingers playing with the buttons of the shirt he was wearing.

“Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No…” He smiled. “But I can already picture you grumbling if they inherit my napping habits.”

Sakazuki gave a faint smile. “Let’s hope they don’t inherit your messiness.”

Kuzan chuckled softly, resting his head on Sakazuki’s broad shoulder. Then he sighed.
“The house… Do you think it’ll be ready?”

“It’s ready. Just need to finish putting together two pieces of furniture. And finish painting the baby’s room.”

“You did all that by yourself?”

“I threatened two vice-admirals into helping me.”

Kuzan let out a louder laugh. Then he sighed again, more softly this time. He closed his eyes.

“I never thought I’d have this, you know. A home. Someone. A baby.”

Sakazuki didn’t answer. But he turned his head and placed a kiss in Kuzan’s hair.

It was his way of saying: Me neither. But I want it now.
Kuzan’s belly moved gently, like a wave under the skin. He placed a hand over it, and Sakazuki joined him.
They stayed like that for a moment, their hands joined on the belly.

Then Sakazuki murmured in a low, rough voice:

“He or she is coming soon. And we’ll be ready. Even if we’re scared.”

Kuzan whispered back:
“I want to go home. To that house. With you. With our child.”

“We will. All three of us.”

---

It was hot—almost stifling—despite the sea breeze slipping in through the open window.

Kuzan was in the bedroom, barefoot, wearing only one of Sakazuki’s oversized shirts—wrinkled, unbuttoned at the collar, and a pair of simple cotton underwear. Nothing else. The shirt slid over his shoulders like a bedsheet that wouldn't stay in place. His belly, massive and firm, pressed against the fabric.

He was pacing back and forth, arms crossed behind his back, his gaze lost in the void. His breathing was uneven, but he tried to keep the rhythm:

Inhaaaale… Exhale… Inhaaaale…
He’d seen it in an old brochure the nurse had given him. A way to calm the body and mind.
It wasn’t working.

“Tch…” he muttered to himself, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to negotiate a delay with the heavens.
His fingers came to rest on the edge of the table, then slid nervously down along his prosthetic. It clicked softly. His left leg—light as a feather—was perfectly adapted to the weight of his pregnancy. A marvel of Vegapunk technology.
But even that, today, seemed to creak with anxiety.
He felt a tension in his belly. Not a real contraction. But something.

Something that whispered: soon.
Very soon.

He stopped, bent forward, one hand on his belly, the other braced on his knee to keep balance. His breathing quickened for a second, then he forced himself to regain control.

Calm. Slowly. No panic.
He finally sat down, after pacing the room like a caged lion—legs apart, arms resting on the armrests. He couldn’t stay still. His fingers drummed on the chair.

“Sakazuki, for god’s sake… can’t your meeting end any faster?” he murmured.

The room was silent. Too silent. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
The baby was moving—not violently, but insistently. As if to say: I’m here. I’m coming.
He placed both hands on his taut belly and exhaled more forcefully.

“Okay. No panic. This could still take days. Or hours. Or."

Pause.
A small, silent hiccup caught in his throat. He looked down, observing the round curve of his stomach, the open shirt, his legs spread, his damp skin.
It wasn’t a distant future anymore.
It was now. Almost now.
And he was afraid.
Not like in battle.
This wasn’t like facing an admiral or an emperor.
But that quiet, deep, intimate fear—of being overwhelmed. Of pain. Of failing.
He placed a hand on his mechanical leg and squeezed it gently.

“Not now, okay? Not yet.”

And then he waited. A little longer. In silence.
Soon, Sakazuki would be back.
Soon, they would leave together.
But for now, he had his breath.
And the warm shirt of the man he loved.

---

The door slammed open in the entryway.

"I'm home."

Sakazuki’s deep voice echoed through the dimly lit dorm. He set down his things, loosened the collar of his jacket, and made his way toward the bedroom, exhausted from a meeting that had dragged on too long.
Too many high-ranking officers.
Too many lies to cover.
Too many diplomatic tensions.

He froze in the doorway.
Kuzan, sitting on the edge of the bed, didn’t even look up at him. His shirt was soaked with sweat. His belly—huge—seemed to pulse with life.

“…Are you okay?”
No answer. Just a slow, burning stare. A firestorm in his eyes.

“You’re late.”

Sakazuki cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry. They insisted on—”

“I almost broke my leg looking for you in the dorms.”

Silence. Then Sakazuki stepped forward, hands raised in surrender.

“I’m here now. I’m here, okay?”

Kuzan let him come closer. His shoulders sagged slightly. He allowed himself to be wrapped in Sakazuki’s strong arms.
Their bodies pressed close.
Forehead to shoulder.
Silence.
Breaths.
Tenderness after the storm.

“I was scared you wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here, idiot. I’ll always be here.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Breathing together. Existing together.
Sakazuki kissed his damp hair. Slowly ran a hand down his back, soothing every frayed nerve.

And then…
Kuzan went still. He looked down.
Sakazuki followed his gaze.
A puddle. On the floor. Warm. Clear.

He stepped back half a pace.

“…Is that…?”

“YES! IT’S EXACTLY WHAT YOU THINK, GENIUS!” Kuzan shouted, eyes wide. “MY WATER JUST BROKE!”

He stood up abruptly.
Sakazuki stepped back too, arms outstretched like he was trying to catch something—but what, he didn’t know.
He turned once. Then again.

“Okay. Okay. I’m calling the nurse. Where’s your bag? Do we need towels? A basin? Hot water?!”

“NO, YOU IDIOT, THIS ISN’T A DRAMA PLAY! CALL THE DOCTOR! AND GET MY BAG! THE BLUE ONE! NOT THE GRAY ONE, THAT’S FOR AFTER THE BIRTH!”

“Where’s the Den Den Mushi?”

“I THREW IT UNDER THE BED WHEN I WAS PANICKING, FIND IT, AKAINU!”

Sakazuki bent down, hit his head on the bed frame, then stood up clutching a half-squashed Den Den Mushi.

Kuzan was pacing back and forth, belly swollen, shirt clinging to his skin, bare feet slapping the floor.

“Okay, okay… got it… I got this, just breathe…” Sakazuki muttered, half to himself, half to the universe.
“SAYS THE GUY WHO CLEARLY DOESN’T GET IT! AND I AM BREATHING, YOU TAX FRAUD!”

The words rang through the room like a blizzard.
Sakazuki looked up—and what he saw took his breath away.

Kuzan.
Tall. Powerful.
Sweating.
Shaking with tension and strength.

He had never looked more alive.
Not calm. Not detached. But burning.
At war.

To bring life into the world.

Suddenly, Sakazuki stopped moving.
He straightened, drew in a breath, and stepped forward with purpose.
His hand landed on Kuzan’s shoulder.

“Let’s go. I’m ready.”

Kuzan, panting, stared at him.
Then nodded slowly.

And together, they left the dorm.
The baby was coming.
The world could wait.

---

The atmosphere in the delivery room was a strange mix of clinical tension and barely contained panic.
Kuzan was sitting on a giant blue birthing ball, legs spread, elbows on his knees, drenched in sweat. He was trying to breathe the way they’d taught him, but at this point, he sounded more like an angry dragon than a yoga instructor.
Sakazuki stood beside him, a little too stiff, like he was counting down to a nuclear detonation.

"Where are we at now?" he asked the nurse in a white uniform.

"Seven centimeters."

He nodded slowly, very seriously.

Then leaned down toward Kuzan. "Is that… a lot?"

"Yes, Sakazuki, it’s a lot!" Kuzan growled through clenched teeth, soaked in sweat. "Two or three more and this baby is out of me."

Sakazuki paled. He was not ready for this. He’d rather fight a rogue admiral or a Celestial Dragon—at least then he knew where to hit.
Here? All he could do was hold hands. And pee. And panic in silence.

The ball was finally taken away, and Kuzan collapsed onto the bed with a groan of relief, his prosthetic leg thudding against the mattress. He took a shaky breath as the machines kicked in and the medical staff got into position.
A midwife stood before him, gloved, calm, smiling.

"Alright. It’s time. The baby’s coming."

She looked into Kuzan’s eyes. He sat up slightly, panting, hair a mess, Sakazuki’s shirt soaked and clinging to his skin.

"Take a deep breath and push when I tell you to, Kuzan-san."

He nodded, already growling, teeth bared.
"Ready?"

Sakazuki leaned in, his deep voice soft, filled with emotion:
"I’m here. You’ve got this."

Kuzan grabbed him by the collar, eyes teary, furious, and pained.

"I swear to you, Sakazuki, if you say one more soft thing while I’m pushing a three-and-a-half-kilo human out of me, I will strangle you."

Sakazuki swallowed his smile. The midwife raised her hand.

"Now. Inhale… and push!"

Kuzan screamed. His back arched. His hands clenched the sheets, Sakazuki’s arm, even the air. His face twisted with effort, rage, and pride.
Sweat. Pain. Power.

"SAKAZUKI!" he roared, voice cracking, gripping Sakazuki’s hand with titanic strength.
Knuckles popped loudly.

"Keep breathing, Aokiji, breathe—"

"SHUT UP BEFORE I SHOVE THIS BIRTHING BALL DOWN YOUR THROAT, DOES IT BREATHE TOO?!"

The midwife and nurse exchanged nervous glances.
Sakazuki, stoic despite the pain—and the sweat—tried to stay focused.

"You can do this. You’re strong."

Instead of calming down, Kuzan screamed again. And with the force of that contraction, a burst of cold shot from his body. A wave of frost froze the curtains, the table, half of the left wall—and Sakazuki’s feet.

"Hn."

"DAMN IT, SAKAZUKI! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

"How is this my fault?!"

"YOU GOT ME PREGNANT, ASSHOLE!" The ceiling cracked under the frost. (Kuzan would never admit the baby came from Blackbeard.)

Sakazuki, resigned, melted the ice beneath his feet with a quiet flicker of magma. He didn’t argue. Not now.
Kuzan groaned, his gaze glassy, his face contorted with exhaustion and fierce determination. His shirt clung to his chest, open, breath short.
Another contraction. Another scream. The hospital shook with the clash of elemental power. A lightbulb shattered.

"Okay! He’s coming! He’s coming!" yelled the nurse crouched between Kuzan’s legs.

"YOU’RE GOING TO DIE FOR THIS, SAKAZUKI. I SWEAR. YOU’LL BURN LIKE ICE IN A VOLCANO!"

"I love you too."

"NOT NOW, YOU DON’T!"

Sakazuki didn’t reply. He didn’t even smile. But his eyes said everything: the fear, the love, the pride, the desperate wish to take all the pain for him.

"Kuzan-san, push!"
He screamed. Again. Once. Twice.

And with a burst of tears, breath, and elemental fury—
a baby’s cry pierced the air.

The world fell silent.
Sakazuki felt the crushing grip on his hand loosen—swollen, shaking, nearly broken—and leaned forward.
He saw the baby.
He saw Kuzan, soaked in sweat and tears, face red and spent.

"You did it," he whispered.

Kuzan slowly turned his head, eyes glassy, voice raw:
"I hate you. I love you. I want to die."

Sakazuki leaned in and kissed his cold forehead.
"You’re incredible."

The frost on the walls crackled and melted under Sakazuki’s body heat. The room was a battlefield of snow and steam, screams and peace.
And in the center, a baby.
Their baby.

"He’s…" Sakazuki began, but his throat tightened.

"He’s our child," Kuzan said, voice hoarse, eyes full.

---

Peace returned to the hospital room like the sea after a storm.
The scent of disinfectant and warm water lingered in the air, mingling with the melting frost on the floor. The walls still bore the chaos: one curtain frozen solid, a shattered lamp, pools of mist and steam.

But at the center of it all, a heartbeat pulsed gently, rocked by soft breaths and calm silence.

Kuzan was exhausted. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his arms limp, legs numb… but he never took his eyes off the nurse approaching cautiously, a small bundle in her arms.

The baby looked like he was floating in the fabric. A crimson blanket, soft and embroidered with silver snowflakes—handpicked by Sakazuki with near-obsessive care. The symbolism was obvious to everyone: cold and heat, united.

Kuzan slowly reached out.

He brought the baby to his bare chest, his fingers trembling but sure. The child squirmed slightly, furrowed his brow, then relaxed the moment he felt his father’s skin and heartbeat.
He wore a simple white onesie, with a shy little bunny on the chest.

Sakazuki approached in silence. He’d quickly washed his face, slicked back his hair, wiped the blood from his hands.
He had never been this nervous in his life. Not even facing Whitebeard. Not even in front of the Five Elders.

His footsteps echoed softly on the floor. He knelt by the bed, beside Kuzan, and gently peeled back the blanket from the baby’s face.

A tiny nose. A parted mouth. A tuft of black hair. Closed eyelids, peaceful.

"He’s…" Sakazuki whispered, voice rougher than he wanted, "…so small."

Kuzan didn’t answer right away. He stared at their child with a look Sakazuki had never seen before. Distant, stunned, empty—and full.

"He has your serious face," he said at last.

Sakazuki raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Kuzan gave a small smile.

"Look at him… he’s already frowning. Definitely yours."
Sakazuki laughed softly, half-choked. He placed his large hand on Kuzan’s shoulder, then gently brushed the baby’s head.

"I’m proud of both of you."

Kuzan turned to him slightly. Dark circles under his eyes, hair plastered to his forehead—but more beautiful than ever.

"I’m exhausted."

"Rest. I’ll watch over you."

"You’d better. If anyone touches this kid without my permission, I’m freezing their liver."

"And I’ll melt their bones," Sakazuki murmured, caressing the baby’s tiny hand.

Silence returned. Calm, gentle, complete.

Kuzan closed his eyes, his chin resting lightly on his child’s forehead.
Sakazuki stayed there, kneeling, one hand on Kuzan’s leg, the other on the bed.

He was a father.
And he was no longer afraid of tomorrow.

---

Kuzan collapsed back, chest heaving, hair plastered to his face. His eyes burned. His body trembled.

Sakazuki looked up. A nurse gently wrapped the newborn in a thick red blanket and handed him over.

He hesitated for just a second, then carefully placed the baby into Kuzan’s arms.

The child was small. Warm. Wriggling.
Kuzan didn’t speak. He simply stared.
There was something strange in his expression.
Admiration.
Disbelief.

Sakazuki sat next to him, gently brushing back a damp strand of hair from Kuzan’s face.
Then he looked at the baby. And he smiled.
Rare. Subtle. But real.

---

A few hours later, the admiral switched on the secure transponder.
He adjusted it and began recording a short message.
His expression was serious—but proud. Behind him, the red, embroidered blanket could be seen.

This message is for the Marines.
To the admirals, vice-admirals, captains, and soldiers who’ve followed me faithfully.
Today, I’d like to introduce someone.

He shifted slightly, revealing Kuzan behind him.
Tired, yes. Pale, yes.
But sitting upright, an arm wrapped around a small bundle.

Kuzan looked up.

"It’s a boy," he said simply.
His voice was soft. Hoarse. But his expression was calm.
"His name is Sakiji. He’s healthy. And he’s loved."

There was a moment of silence across the line.
Then scattered reactions—joyful, surprised:

"Sakiji?" Garp smiled softly.
"That’s amazing!" Buggy yelled, bouncing excitedly.
"Oh, that’s so sweet!" said Hibari and Helmeppo at the same time—then both blushed.

Sakazuki tilted his head toward Kuzan, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"That’s the name you want?"
Kuzan nodded without hesitation.
"He’s our son. It fits him."

The Den Den Mushi blinked gently, still picking up the wave of emotional reactions.

In this room—still a little chaotic, still smelling of hot water and melting ice—the world had paused for a moment around this little boy.

Sakiji.

---

Chapter Text

Kuzan was slowly folding his belongings, helped by the nurse who was packing the baby’s things into a pale blue bag. The room was bathed in soft light, and that day’s newspaper sat proudly on the slightly open windowsill.

"Sakazuki and Kuzan: A Son for the Fleet Admiral"
Morgans snatched the scoop again — despite the confidentiality policy!

Kuzan glared at it from a distance, as if he could freeze Morgans' quill through the paper.

Two weeks. He had stayed at the hospital for two long weeks, between check-ups, sleepless nights, and clumsy feedings. Now, finally, he was going home.

Well… if everything could actually fit into the bag. Which wasn’t looking promising.

“You don’t need to roll your shirts into balls, Mr. Kuzan,” the nurse said gently.

“Hn. It’s not a shirt. It’s a camouflage attempt,” he muttered, tugging absently on his own shirt — which still belonged to Sakazuki and no longer managed to hide his postpartum belly.

He sighed. As much as he tried to stay calm, he felt the tension squeezing his ribs. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror: same hips, same round belly, same dark circles. The nurse had said it was normal. That it could take time. Sometimes, it stayed. And that... he couldn’t quite accept.

He pulled a little more on the shirt, sighing again.

That’s when Sakazuki entered the room, holding the baby carrier with their sleeping son wrapped in a red blanket with snowflakes.

Kuzan shot him an icy glare. Automatic. Instant. A murderous look at minus two degrees Celsius.

Sakazuki froze, like a deer in front of an oncoming glacier.

“W-what? What did I do? I told you I took care of the paperwork! Everything’s approved! Even the Marine benefit file, and—”

“It’s not that,” Kuzan growled through gritted teeth, slowly trying to button his shirt — or rather, attempting to. The fabric strained at the buttons.

Sakazuki gulped. Very slowly.
“I… I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Of course you do,” Kuzan shot back, tugging at the last button that refused to close. He gave up, folding his arms across his chest, eyes narrowed.

Sakazuki assessed the situation. He looked at his partner. Then the shirt. Then their son. Then back at Kuzan. He chose his words with the utmost caution:

“You look… stunning?”

Kuzan raised one slow, very sarcastic eyebrow.

“Try again.”

Sakazuki sighed. He set the baby carrier down by the bed and approached carefully, like someone trying not to startle a wounded animal ready to bite off their testicles.

“You carried our baby for nine months. You survived a battlefield-worthy birth. You cursed me out, threatened me, froze an entire room. And you did all that without losing a shred of your charm.”

Kuzan narrowed his eyes.
“Keep going.”

“You’re still ridiculously attractive. Even with that pulled shirt and your messy hair. Even when you grumble. Even with your belly. You’re the kind of man people admire, not judge.”

Kuzan stared at him a moment.
Then he looked away.
“Hn. Okay… That’ll do.”

Sakazuki allowed himself a breath.
He wasn’t going to die today.

Kuzan slowly grabbed the bag.
“Did you pack the white one?”

“The one with the bunny? Of course. I put it in the front pocket.”

Kuzan nodded slowly.
“Good. If you’d forgotten… I would’ve reconsidered our relationship.”

Sakazuki raised his hands.
“Never, Kuzan. I like my internal organs too much.”

Kuzan gave a faint half-smile and gently tugged on the shirt fabric, accepting his companion’s awkward embrace as he kissed him on the temple.

“Come on… let’s go home.”

---

The ride was short, but Kuzan nearly fell asleep against the car window, exhausted from just walking to the vehicle. Their son slept deeply in his carrier in the back, lulled by the car’s rhythm.

When the vehicle stopped, Kuzan frowned.

“This isn’t our old dorm.”

Sakazuki turned off the engine without replying, his face calm but betrayed by the excitement in his eyes.

“Come see.”

Kuzan raised an eyebrow but followed, tired but curious.

They stopped in front of a small house with a light façade, discreet but neat, surrounded by a few carefully trimmed trees. There was a gentle ramp leading up to the entrance — perfect for the days Kuzan limped more than he admitted.

The door opened to a bright, warm interior.

Light wood, cream walls, a large bay window with deep blue curtains.

The living room was spacious, with a wide, cozy sofa. A snowflake-patterned blanket was already folded on it. A small bookshelf held a few books… including some on parenting.

Kuzan stepped inside slowly, silently. He said nothing, but his eyes moved from detail to detail, his heart pounding.

Sakazuki walked to a door on the right, opened it, and revealed a brand-new nursery.

The walls were painted a soft white, decorated with little clouds, snowflakes, and a sun above the crib.

A mobile of stars turned gently above the bed.

There was already a chair for night feedings, a shelf with stuffed animals, diapers, neatly folded clothes… and on the wall, a framed photo of the two of them — exhausted, messy, glowing with joy, at the hospital.

Kuzan ran a hand over his face.

“You did all this… in two weeks?”

“Before that too. While you were still in the hospital, I came here every night. I wanted it to be ready for both of you.”

Kuzan blinked. He slowly turned to Sakazuki.
He wanted to say something. But there were no words.

So instead, he pulled him into a slow embrace, pressed his forehead to his chest, and simply whispered:
“Thank you.”

---

Night fell.

Sakiji slept in his crib, his face relaxed, tiny hands against his cheek. Kuzan sat in the chair beside the bed, watching him in silent awe.

“He makes weird noises when he sleeps.”

“Like you.”

Kuzan gave him a sideways glance, but didn’t deny it.

Sakazuki returned with two cups of warm milk, handing one to Kuzan before sitting beside him.

They stayed there for a moment, quiet, listening to their son’s steady breathing.

“Did you notice he has your nose?” Sakazuki asked softly.

“Hn. Or your eyebrows. He frowns like you when he wakes up.”

A sudden little cry startled them both. Sakiji wriggled, made a face… then sneezed.

Kuzan lifted his arms, ready to intervene — but the baby immediately went back to sleep.

They both sighed in unison.

Sakazuki leaned in and kissed Kuzan’s temple.

“We’ll be okay.”

Kuzan didn’t answer right away. He looked at their son, then at his partner. A faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Yeah. We’ve got this.”

---

Kuzan stepped out of the shower, towel around his waist, hair dripping. The steam still fogged the mirror, but his reflection was visible enough.

He stood there for a moment, staring at himself.
His belly wasn’t stretched like a balloon anymore, but remnants remained. Marks. Curves. Softer, looser skin in places.

He had looked at this body with resentment for a long time.

It wasn’t his.
Not the one he used to know.
Not the body of a former admiral.
Not the one people called “eternal ice.”

He blamed himself. A little. A lot. And often, without meaning to, he blamed Sakazuki. For starting all this. For loving him enough to stay. For protecting him enough that he survived.

But he couldn’t hate this body anymore.

Not since he’d seen Sakiji curled against him minutes after birth. Not since he heard that first little cry.

Not since he’d felt those tiny fingers clutch his frozen finger like a lifeline.

This body… gave life. It suffered. It endured. It carried their son.

He looked down at his left hand, where a simple silver band shone.

He turned it thoughtfully, then smiled faintly.
Engaged. To the most stubborn, volcanic man he’d ever met.
Father to a child he never imagined he’d have.

Kuzan took a deep breath.
He put on a shirt — one of Sakazuki’s, oversized as usual — and left the bathroom.

The hallway smelled like warm milk, and the living room echoed with soft babbling. Sakiji was playing with a toy shaped like a little icy dog, while Sakazuki tried unsuccessfully to get him to say “papa.”

“You always look ridiculous doing that,” Kuzan teased.

Sakazuki turned around, a tired but genuine smile on his face.
“And yet, he smiled. I think I win.”

Kuzan joined him slowly, sat on the couch, and took their son into his arms. He stroked the baby’s head gently, then, almost unconsciously, squeezed the hand that wore the ring a little tighter.

“I haven’t won much in life…” he murmured. “But this… you two…”
He looked down at Sakiji, then up at Sakazuki.
“You’re my greatest victory.”

---

Kuzan sat on the soft rug in the living room, legs crossed, his son nestled between his knees.

Sakiji played with a little plush penguin, completely absorbed, dark curls falling over his forehead. His blue pajamas with snowflakes slid off one round shoulder, revealing soft, warm skin. Morning light filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in calm.

Kuzan, gaze lowered, stared at the little being he loved more than life itself. He spoke slowly, softly… almost brokenly:

“You know, Sakiji… your old man didn’t always have it easy.” He smiled without joy, fingers running through the child’s thick hair.
“Before you, I was someone else. Someone lost.”

The boy looked up at him, curiosity on his tiny face.

“I fell… really far. And I was scared. Of myself. Of the world.”
He placed a hand on his own belly, by reflex — where it all began.
“And then you came. Like a… gentle storm. And with you came your other papa.”

Sakiji didn’t understand, of course. He couldn’t. But he reached out his little hand and gently rubbed Kuzan’s cheek, smiling happily.

“Papa!”

Kuzan closed his eyes, overwhelmed. He didn’t want to cry. Not today. Not now.
It was their wedding anniversary — their quiet but sincere union, signed two years ago in a tiny office with no ceremony — and it brought everything back.

The fears. The doubts.
The pain.
And the love.

A sound at the doorframe startled him.

Sakazuki stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. He’d heard everything. His gaze was soft, though a little concerned.

“Babe…” He stepped forward slowly, then knelt beside them. He placed a large hand on Kuzan’s thigh.
“Don’t cry. It’s our wedding anniversary.”
A small smile tugged at his lips, almost shy.
“And Sakiji is only two… he doesn’t get all that.”

He scooped up their son and twirled him, earning a peal of delighted laughter.

“Come on. We could do something together. A walk, a cake, or just… be together. Like a real family.”

Kuzan nodded, eyes shining but heart at peace.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’d like that.”

And seeing Sakiji reach for him, laughing joyfully in Sakazuki’s arms, he knew — without a shadow of a doubt — that despite all the storms, he’d found a safe harbor.
His suffering was over.
He didn’t need to cry anymore.

“Papa!!” Sakiji bounced on Sakazuki’s hip, wriggling in joy toward Kuzan.

“Papa’s coming, Sakiji. Let’s go have fun and celebrate this happy day.”

---

Chapter Text

🌋❤️🔥☄️

To all the fans of Kuzan x Sakazuki!!

I invite you to leave me ideas in the comments;3 I would be delighted to turn one of your ideas into a fanfiction!

I know that this couple makes us hungry, not enough content, we ate everything they offered us.: 3 I would be delighted to soothe a few hearts by writing for you.

☃️💙❄️🌨️