The sub glided through the inky blackness of the abyss, its bioluminescent algae strips casting a ghostly teal glow over the control room. Ace leaned over the holographic dashboard, his finger hovering above a button labeled HYPERSPATIAL RECALIBRATOR (DO NOT PRESS).
"Hey—what's this button do?"
Bianca spun from her repair rig, grease smeared across her face like war paint. "DON'T—"
BWOOOOOONG.
The sub shuddered violently as the bubble porter—a glowing orb of swirling quantum particles—flared to life. A sound like a thousand out-of-tune church bells echoed through the hull.
"—touch that button!" Bianca finished, slamming her wrench into the panel.
Too late.
The world outside the viewport dissolved into a kaleidoscope of fractured light. For a heartbeat, the sub ceased to exist—then reconstituted with a gut-wrenching thud.
Silence.
The sub floated in a void of featureless gray. No water. No sky. Just… nothing.
Charlie clutched his ledger to his chest. "Are we… dead?"
"Like, worse," Bianca hissed, stabbing at the dead controls. "We're, like, in the Hyperspatial Doldrums. AKA: the universe's junk drawer."
Marya unsheathed Eternal Night, mist coiling around her boots. "Can we leave?"
"Like, if the bubble porter reboots. If, like, the sub's not fried. If—"
Ace poked the viewport. "Hey, is that a… whale?"
A spectral shape flickered in the distance—a colossal creature with too many eyes, swimming through the gray.
"Don't. Look. At. It," Bianca ordered, slapping Ace's hand away.
The sub's emergency protocols suddenly blared, overriding the silence. CRITICAL FAILURE. SURFACING.
"Surface where?!" Charlie squeaked.
The sub lurched, reality rippling as it ejected itself from the void. They breached into a sea so still it looked like glass, under a sky choked with green-tinged clouds. The sub's systems died with a final, pitiful whine.
"Well," Ace said, cracking open a stolen soda from the galley. "This is cozy."
Marya glared. "Cozy?"
Bianca kicked the engine housing. "Like, we're stranded in the middle of, like, nowhere, with a dead sub, and, like, a bubble porter that's now a paperweight. Like, Cozy."
Charlie peered through a periscope. "No land. No ships. Just… water. And those clouds look… acidic?"
A low, resonant hum vibrated through the hull. Marya gripped her sword. "Did we bring anything useful?"
Bianca tossed her a glow stick. "Like, optimism?"
The hum deepened. Shapes moved beneath the water—sleek, enormous, and hungry. Ace grinned. "Adventure!" Marya facepalmed in response.
The sub floated in a void where physics had clearly taken a coffee break. Outside, gelatinous blobs with neon top hats and monocles oozed toward the hull, leaving rainbow slime trails. One tapped on the viewport with a tentacle-tipped cane.
Ace pressed his face against the glass. "Are those… jelly clowns?"
Marya yanked him back as a blob spat a glittery acid globule, melting a hole in the floor. "Defend. Now."
Ace ignited his fists, grinning. "Finally, a worthy opponent!" He launched a fireball at a clown-blob. It exploded into confetti, which promptly caught fire and singed his eyebrows.
"Nice one," Marya deadpanned, mist-dodging a swarm of sentient rubber chickens.
"They're flammable!" Ace protested, batting away a chicken with a flaming punch. It ricocheted into the sub's antenna, which began broadcasting polka music. The clowns squeaked in delight, multiplying to the beat.
Inside, Bianca dangled from the engine room ceiling, elbow-deep in wires. "Charlie! Like, fand me the non-sentient screwdriver!"
Charlie fumbled through a toolbox as tools hissed insults. "It says here we need a 'quantum spanner'! Do we have one?!"
"Like, yeah, like, check the fridge!"
Charlie opened the fridge. A wedge of glowing cheese glared at him. "This says 'Gouda Singularity'…"
"That's it!" Bianca snatched the cheese, plugging it into the engine. The sub belched a warp bubble shaped like a duck.
The clowns merged into a Mega-Clown, juggling black holes. Ace, now piloting a malfunctioning laser turret, fired wildly. The beam hit a passing asteroid, which sprunted legs and tap-danced away.
Marya's mist solidified into a giant flyswatter. "SWAT THEM. NOW."
Bianca, now wearing the cheese as a hat, screamed, "DON'T SWAT THE DARK MATTER!" Too late. The swatter connected, triggering a quantum sneeze that vacuumed the clowns into a pocket dimension.
The sub sputtered to life, smelling inexplicably of burnt cotton candy.
Ace high-fived a charred rubber chicken. "Teamwork!"
Marya sheathed her sword. "Never. Again."
Bianca glared at the cheese now fused to the engine. "Like, next time, you fix the sub."
Charlie nodded, scribbling: Hypothesis: Universe is a bad comedian.
The bubble porter hummed, its quantum swirls stabilizing into something resembling order. Bianca, sweat dripping into her goggles, let out a manic laugh. "Like, it's working! We're, like, syncing to reality!"
The sub trembled as the void peeled away, replaced by the familiar indigo sheen of the New World's night sea. For three glorious seconds, everything worked—lights flickered, engines purred, Charlie's trembling hands steadied on the nav console.
Then, with a noise like a dying accordion, the sub died. Again.
"Of course," Marya muttered, slumping into the chair.
The sub surfaced with a defeated gurgle, bobbing listlessly under a starless sky. Bianca kicked the control panel, which responded by ejecting a puff of smoke shaped like a middle finger.
"No engines. No comms. No beacon," Charlie recited, voice shrill. "Just… the log pose." He held up the ancient device, its needle spinning lazily before snapping north.
Ace lounged on the deck, roasting a marshmallow over a flickering lighter. "Could be worse! At least the water's warm."
Marya shot him a look sharp enough to slice Sea stone. "There's things in warm water." As if on cue, something massive brushed the sub's hull.
Bianca sighed, pulling her goggles off to rub her eyes. "So, like, what's the plan now? We're stuck in, like, the middle of nowhere with, like, a broken sub and, like, no way to call for help."
Charlie glanced at the log pose again, its needle unwaveringly pointed north. "We follow the log pose. It's leading us somewhere, right?"
Ace chuckled, his marshmallow now a perfect golden brown. "Adventure awaits," he said, raising it in a mock toast before popping it into his mouth.
Marya stood, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the darkness. "Just stay alert. We need to be ready for anything."
The sub creaked as it drifted, moonlight fracturing on the black water. Ace trailed his fingers over the surface, sending ripples through the bioluminescent algae blooming beneath. Marya watched him, her back against the hull, Eternal Night laid across her knees like a sleeping serpent.
Ace's grin lingered, but a shadow crossed his features as he stared at the dark waves. The flicker of adventure in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a storm of unspoken thoughts. The weight of lineage and legacy pressed on him, churning with each lap of water against the sub's hull. He had always embraced the thrill of the unknown, the promise of new horizons, yet the shadows of family cast long and inescapable, haunting even the brightest ventures. This voyage, this floating uncertainty, mirrored his inner turmoil—a restless search for identity and belonging. He was a pirate, a free spirit, but also a son, a bearer of a name that carried both honor and burden. The silence stretched, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the deck.
"So… Dracule," Ace said, finally breaking the silence. "Mihawk's kid. Never pegged him for the dad type."
Marya shrugged. "Most people figure it out by the hair. The eyes. Or the sword."
"Or the 'I'll-cut-your-soul-in-half' glare." Ace grinned, but it faded. "Why keep it secret?"
She tilted her head, studying him. The question wasn't about her—not really. "He's private. I'm private. Secrets aren't always about shame."
Ace leaned back, staring at the stars. "You ever wish he wasn't… him? That you could just be… nobody's daughter?"
The water slapped the sub. Something massive glided beneath them, a shadow that made the hull groan.
Marya traced the kogatana at her throat—her father's first gift. "No. If he weren't Mihawk, I wouldn't be me. This life, this blade… it's all because of him. Even the parts I hate."
Ace frowned. "But you don't agree with him. You left."
"Disagreeing doesn't mean disowning." Her voice softened, almost unheard. "I miss him. Should visit soon."
Ace sat up, restless. "How? How do you just… accept it? The name, the legacy, the—"
"—weight?" Marya finished. "I don't. It's not a chain, Ace. It's a compass. He taught me to navigate the world, not become him."
Ace's fists clenched, flames flickering at his wrists. "My father… he wasn't around to teach shit. Just left a target on my back."
Marya sheathed her sword, the click deliberate. "You think Mihawk's name doesn't paint a target? Difference is, I chose to wear it."
Ace blinked. "Why?"
"Because…" She hesitated, rare vulnerability slipping through. "When you grow up with a legend, you learn they're just people. Flawed. Frightening. But still… yours."
Ace stared at her, the truth settling like ash. "You like being his daughter."
"Yes." No hesitation. "Even when I want to strangle him."
The sub lurched. A tentacle slapped the hull, then retreated, disinterested.
Ace laughed suddenly, bright and startled. "You're weird."
Marya smirked. "Says the man who talks to seagulls."
They sat in silence, the log pose ticking toward the unknown island.
"Thanks," Ace muttered.
"For what?"
"Not saying 'family's complicated' or some canned crap."
Marya stood, offering a rare, true smile. "It's not complicated. It's just… family."
Dawn came grudgingly, staining the horizon the color of a bruise. Charlie, who hadn't slept, spotted it first—a jagged silhouette piercing the mist.
"Land!" he croaked, shaking Bianca awake. "The log pose… it's pointing there."
Mock Town emerged like a scar on the coastline, its ramshackle buildings leaning drunkenly over the docks. The air smelled of burnt gunpowder and spilled rum, and the remnants of Bellamy's defeat clung to the streets like confetti after a funeral. Pirates slunk through the shadows, their bravado dulled, while shopkeepers nailed fresh bounty posters over shattered windows.
"Like, perfect," Bianca said, wiping her hands on her overalls. "Like, this dump's got parts. And snails. Let's move."
The market was a graveyard of pride. Vendors hawked "genuine Sky Island relics" (spoiler: driftwood) and "Bellamy's authentic gold" (spoiler: painted rocks). Bianca zeroed in on a stall manned by a one-eyed tinkerer, her haggling voice sharp enough to flay skin.
"I, like, need a Type-3 flux capacitor, not, like, this scrap," she snapped, tossing a rusted cog.
"Flux capacitor? You fixing a sub or a time machine?" the tinkerer grumbled, but handed over the part.
A newspaper fluttered down, slapped by the wind against Marya's boot. The headline screamed: STRAW HAT LUFFY DECLARES WAR ON THE WORLD! ENIES LOBBY IN RUINS!
Ace snatched it up, his grin splitting his face. "That's Luffy! My little brother's causing a ruckus!"
Marya peered over his shoulder. "He attacked a government stronghold? Your family's… consistent."
Charlie adjusted his glasses. "This complicates things. The Marines will be—"
"Pissed?" Ace laughed. "Yeah. That's the point."
The tavern's sign hung crooked, its paint peeling to reveal the rot beneath. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of sour ale and charred meat, the floor sticky with spills no one dared name. Bellamy's defeat lingered like a ghost here—scorch marks from Luffy's fist still scarred the bar, and the patrons nursed their drinks with the sullen silence of bruised egos.
They claimed a corner table, their presence drawing sidelong glances from pirates clutching dented tankards. A server slid plates of "mystery stew" toward them, the meat inside twitching suspiciously.
"Like, I'd rather eat the sub's engine grease," Bianca muttered, poking her fork at a tentacle.
Charlie pushed his plate away, adjusting his cracked glasses. "I've catalogued six species of mold here. None are edible."
Ace, unbothered, shoveled a forkful into his mouth. "Tastes like adventure!"
Marya sipped water, her gaze slicing through the room. Pirates averted their eyes, fingers twitching toward weapons but never drawing. Eternal Night leaned against her chair, its hilt gleaming—a silent warning.
Two pirates hunched at the bar, their voices sloshing with drink. "—heard Teach is headin' to Banaro," one slurred, his breath rancid. "Gonna recruit monsters or somethin'. Real monsters."
Ace froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. The fire in his palm flared, scorching the table. "Banaro? Blackbeard's there?"
Marya's mist coiled around her boots, tendrils snaking toward the shadows. "You're leaving," she said, not a question.
Ace nodded, the usual grin replaced by something darker. "Gotta finish what I started."
Bianca arched an eyebrow. "Like, what? Like, you got a playdate with this Teach guy?"
"He's… a problem," Ace said, evasive. "My problem."
Charlie fidgeted. "Statistically, confronting a notorious pirate alone—"
"—is stupid," Marya finished.
Outside, the alley reeked of fish guts and betrayal. A rat-faced man lurked in the shadows, Den Den Mushi pressed to his ear. "Boss… the Dracule girl's here. With the fire-brat."
Doflamingo's laughter crackled back, honeyed and venomous. "Mingo mingo~. Let them play. For now."
The docks groaned under the weight of the day's chaos, the air thick with the smell of salt and burning wood. Ace stood at the edge of his stolen skiff, the fading sun setting his freckles ablaze. Behind him, Marya, Bianca, and Charlie formed an unlikely trio—swordswoman, engineer, and scholar—united by ash, absurdity, and a submarine held together by spite.
"So," Ace said, scratching the back of his neck, "this is it, huh?"
Bianca tossed him a sack of rations. "Like, try not to blow yourself up."
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, thrusting a hastily drawn map into Ace's hands. "Banaro's waters are… unstable. Avoid the whirlpools marked in red. Please."
Marya said nothing, her arms crossed, Eternal Night glinting at her back. But her nod was a blade's edge of respect.
Ace grinned, the fire in his palm flickering like a campfire tale. "C'mon, don't look so grim! That island was wild! Best detour I've ever had."
Marya's eyebrow arched. "You consider near-death a 'detour'?"
"Death's just part of the ride," Ace laughed. Then, softer: "Thanks. For not ditching me when I set the engine on fire."
Bianca snorted. "Like, we needed the entertainment."
Charlie cleared his throat. "Statistically, our survival odds improved with you. Marginally."
Ace's grin widened. He turned to Marya. "And you… try not to miss me too much."
She rolled her eyes. "I'll carve a reminder into the sub's hull."
Ace leapt onto the skiff, the waves slapping the hull like a farewell. He saluted, flames dancing behind him as he waved. "See you on the flip side."
As the skiff jetted into the golden haze, Bianca muttered, "Like, he's gonna get eaten by a sea king."
Charlie adjusted his glasses. "I give it… three days."
Marya watched the horizon, her voice barely audible. "He'll make it four."
Ace's laughter carried over the waves as his skiff vanished into the horizon. Behind him, Mock Town silhouetted—a graveyard of pride and shattered dreams. Ahead, Banaro loomed, a storm waiting to erupt.
The sub loomed in the harbor like a battered metal whale, its hull streaked with ash and seaweed. Bianca slapped the hatch control, her grease-stained hands leaving smudges on the console. "Like, let's get out of here."
Inside, the sub's interior hummed faintly, bioluminescent algae strips flickering like dying fireflies. Charlie strapped himself into a seat bolted to the wall, clutching his ledger like a lifeline. "Coordinates are set… I think. The bubble porter's alignment is theoretically sound, but—"
"Theoretically," Marya cut in, her sword propped against the navigation panel, "isn't reassuring."
Bianca flopped into the pilot's chair, kicking a loose wire out of her way. "Relax. I rebuilt this thing twice. It'll hold."
The sub groaned as the engine sputtered to life, vibrations rattling the mismatched bolts in the floor. Outside, the water churned, the reflection of Mock Town's smoldering ruins rippling like a half-forgotten nightmare.
Bianca slammed her palm on the activation switch. The bubble porter—a sphere of swirling quantum energy—flared to life, casting jagged shadows across the cabin. The air crackled, static lifting Charlie's hair into a frizzy halo.
"Like, here we go," Bianca muttered, her voice tight.
The sub shuddered violently, metal screeching as reality itself seemed to peel around them. Through the viewport, the night sky fractured into prismatic shards, the ocean dissolving into a kaleidoscope of impossible colors.
Charlie white-knuckled his armrests. "This isn't—this isn't in the Consortium manuals!"
Marya gripped Eternal Night, her mist curling defensively around her boots. "Bianca. Fix it."
"Working on it!" Bianca stabbed at the controls, her goggles reflecting error messages in dead languages.
For a heartbeat, they hung suspended in the quantum drift—a place without time, without sound, without breath. Charlie's ledger floated mid-air, pages fluttering like panicked birds. Bianca's laughter bordered on hysterical. "Like, hey! Zero gravity's kinda fun!"
Marya's voice was ice. "Focus."
The bubble porter pulsed, its hum rising to a deafening crescendo. Then—
THUD.
Reality snapped back into place. The sub dropped into the sea with a cannonball splash, alarms blaring.
Silence.
The viewport revealed a moonlit expanse of water, still and endless. No islands. No ships. Just the void between stars mirrored in the waves.
Bianca slumped in her chair, sweat dripping off her nose. "Like, nailed it."
Charlie pried his fingers from the armrests. "N-Nailed it? We're in the middle of nowhere!"
The sub breached the surface with a weary sigh, its battered hull glinting under the pale moonlight. Through the salt-crusted viewport, the Consortium emerged like a mirage—a jagged island cloaked in mist, the titan silhouette studded with wisteria blossoms. The air here smelled of ozone and ancient stone, a scent that made Charlie's eyes prickle with sudden, unspoken relief.
"Like, would you look at that," Bianca whispered, her usual bravado softened to awe. "Home sweet home."
Marya leaned forward, her grip on Eternal Night loosening for the first time in weeks. The blade's mist retreated as if it, too, recognized sanctuary.