The amber glow of Tosu Island's evening settled over Port Lak-Sa like honey poured into a cup. The sun hung low, fat and orange, casting long shadows across the weathered dock planks. Seagulls squabbled over scraps near the fishing boats, their cries sharp against the rhythmic creak of moored vessels.
Shanks walked with his hands in his pockets, the evening breeze catching the edges of his black cloak. Beside him, Jannali Bandler hefted a bulging satchel over her shoulder, the leather strap cutting into her collarbone. Coins clinked with every step—a metallic rhythm that made her grin stretch from ear to ear. "Looks like you cleaned them out."
"Nah yeah mate," Jannali said, holding up the satchel like a fisherman displaying a prize catch. Shanks chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Taking candy from a baby?" Jannali's grin turned wolfish. "Babies with deep pockets and poor poker faces."
A few paces ahead, Marya Zaleska walked in silence. Her raven hair like a dark cloak against an orange sky, strands of black shifting like oil on water. Her leather jacket—the Heart Pirates insignia stitched over her heart—hung open over a simple grey shirt. Denim shorts, tall combat boots. Nisshoku was slung across her back, an obsidian void that refused to reflect the world, instead greedily swallowing the evening light
She held her chin between her thumb and forefinger, her golden eyes fixed on some middle distance only she could see. Rings circled her irises—her father's eyes, Dracule Mihawk's eyes—but they saw something far beyond the dock ahead.
Jannali nudged Shanks with her elbow. "What's got her goat?"
Marya's eyes shifted, focus returning like a blade sliding into its sheath. She took a breath, slow and measured.
"Donquixote Dunnjona Haigo."
Shanks lifted a brow, his smile fading into something more serious. "That was risky. Reckless."
Marya turned her head, fixing him with an unimpressed expression that could have curdled milk. "That's rich. Coming from you."
Shanks's smirk returned, crooked and easy. "Is it?"
Jannali waved a hand between them, her hoop earrings swinging. "Alright, alright. What about this Donquixote Dunnjona Haigo?"
They rounded the final corner onto the main dock. The Dreadnought loomed ahead—a black wedge of ancient metal, its hull scarred by centuries of secrets. Beyond it, the Red Force bobbed gently, its dragon-headed prow a declaration against dusk. Lanterns flickered to life along the dock, casting pools of warm light on the weathered wood.
Marya's voice came low, thoughtful. "He said my brother would be on Amiso Island."
She turned her attention to Shanks, her golden eyes searching his face. "What do you think he meant by event? And what do you know about Amiso Island?"
Shanks opened his mouth to answer—
"Hey! Chief!"
The shout came from down the dock, loud and cheerful. Beckman stood with a cluster of figures, his hand raised in greeting. Galit Varuna leaned against a mooring post, his long neck curved in that loose S-shape he favored. Atlas Acuta sat on a crate, his rust-red fur still dusted with arena sand. Sanza Kaplan Figarland hopped from foot to foot, his red hair a wild mess. Jelly Squish wobbled beside him, his translucent blue body reflecting the lantern light. Monster sat on Bonk Punch's shoulder, the large brown monkey's topknot bobbing as he scratched his ear.
Limejuice, Hongo, and Bonk Punch stood in a loose cluster, their postures relaxed.
Shanks waved back, his grin widening. "There they are."
Sanza broke from the group first, his small legs pumping as he sprinted down the dock. His sandals pounded the wood—thump-thump-thump-thump—until he skidded to a stop in front of Marya, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement.
"Big Sis! Big Sis!" His voice pitched high, breathless. "You should have seen it!"
Sanza's hands flew up, miming something large and explosive. "It was like whoosh—" his arms swept wide, "—then BAM—" his fist slammed into his palm, "—then BOOM!"
He looked up at Marya, his Gallagher eyebrows raised so high they nearly vanished into his red fringe. "You should have been there!"
Jelly Squish materialized on Sanza's left, his gelatinous body quivering with excitement. "Bloop! Bonk Punch went pow and Atlas went oof!" He wobbled his arms in a poor imitation of a punch.
Monster dropped from Bonk Punch's shoulder and landed on Sanza's right, the monkey's brown fur bristling as he chattered and gestured, adding his own commentary to the fight recap.
Marya's lips twitched. She crossed her arms, looking down at the trio with something soft hiding behind her stoic mask. A chuckle escaped her—low, warm.
Shanks scanned the group, counting heads. "Group looks a little smaller than this morning."
Beckman stepped forward, his hand finding Shanks's shoulder in a familiar grip. "Hey, Chief." His smile carried knowing weight. "Let's just say some of us decided to entertain some other opportunities."
Shanks nodded, understanding flickering across his face. "Ah."
Sanza wrinkled his nose, his expression twisting like he'd bitten something sour. "They left with a bunch of boring girls."
Marya raised a brow, her golden eyes fixing on the boy. "Girls are boring, huh."
Sanza scoffed, his small shoulders rising in a shrug that suggested the answer should have been obvious. Like asking if water was wet, "Well, yeah."
The men around them chuckled—low rumbles of amusement. Galit held the bridge of his nose, his long neck coiling with suppressed laughter. Atlas pressed a hand to his side, his rust-red fur bristling as he fought to keep his composure.
Marya crossed her arms, looking down her nose at the eight-year-old. "So am I boring?"
Sanza's eyes went wide, genuine confusion flooding his face. "You're not a girl. You're a big sis."
Jannali threw her head back. "Bloody hell."
Shanks and his men exploded into laughter—deep, genuine, the kind that bent men double and brought tears to eyes. Galit gave up pretending, his wheezing laugh escaping in sharp bursts. Atlas shook his head, his blue sapphire eyes gleaming with amusement.
Sanza looked between them, his red eyebrows knitting together. "What's so funny?"
Shanks ruffled the boy's red hair as he walked past, his palm smoothing the wild strands. "Nothing, kid. Let's go."
Sanza straightened his hair with both hands, his expression affronted. "I am not a little kid."
The group began walking down the dock, boots thudding in uneven rhythm. Jelly bounced alongside Monster, the monkey's tail curling around the jellyfish's wobbling arm. Sanza marched between them, his small chest puffed with indignation.
Jannali adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, the coins clinking. "Are we going to this Amiso Island, then?"
Galit appeared on Marya's other side, his long neck extending to bring his face closer to hers. "Are we adjusting our course?"
Marya sighed, her breath fogging the cooling air. "I don't know." She reached up, tucking a strand of raven hair behind her ear. "When we get back to the ship, I want to see where this island is."
Shanks walked ahead, his cloak swaying. "Amiso's in the New World. Past the second half of the Grand Line. It's not a place people go unless they have business there." He glanced back at Marya, his expression unreadable. "Or unless they're invited."
Marya's jaw tightened. "Invited to what?"
Shanks opened his mouth—
And then he stopped.
---
Thatch spotted them first.
He had been walking down the dock with Vista and Haruta, the three of them making their way back from the market. Thatch's hand was already rising in greeting, a friendly wave forming on his lips—he recognized the Red Hair Pirates, and any friend of Shanks was—
Vista went rigid.
Haruta's hand flew to his blade.
"No way," Haruta breathed, the words barely a whisper.
Vista's jaw clenched so tight the muscles stood out like cables. His fingers wrapped around the hilts of his swords, knuckles going white. He did not hear Thatch call his name. He did not hear Haruta tell him to wait.
All he saw was her.
The raven hair. The golden eyes. The sword on her back—black blade, red runes glowing faintly in the dusk.
Mihawk's daughter.
Vista charged.
---
The sound of boots on wood—hard, fast, deliberate—cut through the evening chatter. Marya's head snapped toward the noise, her body shifting into a stance she did not consciously choose. Her hand found Nisshoku's hilt.
Shanks turned, his easy smile vanishing.
Beckman's hand moved to his pistol.
Galit's whips uncoiled from his wrists, the Vipera vertebrae clicking like snake bones.
Atlas's fur bristled, blue sparks jumping between his fingers.
Jelly squeaked and hid behind Monster, who bared his teeth.
Sanza looked up, confusion flooding his face. "What's—"
Vista closed the distance in three heartbeats. His blades cleared their sheaths with a sound like a promise—shing, shing—and the air between them grew thin.
-----
The evening air wrapped around Port Lak-Sa like a warm blanket, thick with the smell of grilled fish and brine. Lanterns swung gently from mooring posts, casting shifting pools of orange light across the weathered wood. Somewhere in the distance, a musician plucked at a stringed instrument, the melody drifting through the salt-tinged breeze.
Marya walked with the group, her boots thudding soft against the planks. Sanza bounced at her side, his hands still flying through the air as he reenacted the fights from the tournament.
"And then Bonk Punch went WHAM—" Sanza slammed his fist into his palm, "—and Atlas went flying! Like whoosh!" He spun in a circle, nearly tripping over his own feet. "And then Limejuice did this thing with his legs—"
Jelly wobbled beside him, nodding vigorously. "Bloop! It was amazing!"
Monster chattered from Bonk Punch's shoulder, the brown monkey's topknot bobbing as he added his own commentary.
Marya listened with half an ear, her golden eyes scanning the dock ahead. The submarine's black bulk loomed against the fading horizon; its hull streaked with centuries of salt and secrets. Beyond it, the Red Force rocked gentle, its dragon-headed prow cutting the dusk.
She felt it before she saw it.
A thread of malice, thin and sharp, aimed at her like an arrow. Her body moved before her mind caught up.
Her hand shot behind her, fingers wrapping around Nisshoku's hilt. The blade cleared its sheath in a whisper of black steel and red runes. She twisted, brought the sword up, and caught Vista's descending strike with a crack of metal that echoed across the dock.
Their blades locked.
Vista's face hovered inches from hers, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with grief and rage. His swords pressed down, trying to force her blade aside.
Marya held steady. Her smirk came slow, easy, like a cat watching a mouse wear itself out.
"Oh look," she said, her voice carrying a lazy amusement. "My father's fanboy is resurrected. Once wasn't enough for you?"
Vista's face twisted. "You brat—" His arms shook with effort, muscles cording. "I will show you what happens when you underestimate me!"
Their blades clashed again—clang, clang, clang—a rapid exchange that sent sparks skittering across the wood. Marya parried each strike with minimal movement, her feet barely shifting. Her golden eyes tracked his shoulders, his wrists, the tells he did not know he had.
"I am sure you won't," she said, calm as still water.
---
Footsteps pounded the dock. Thatch and Haruta sprinted toward the clash, their faces a mix of alarm and frustration.
Galit's whips cracked through the air, the Vipera vertebrae clicking as they uncoiled from his wrists. He stepped between Haruta and Marya, his long neck curving into a defensive S-shape. "Recognize you."
Haruta's hand went to his weapon, fingers curling around the hilt.
Galit's smirk carried teeth. "This didn't end well for you last time. You want to do this again?"
Haruta's eyes glittered. "Let's find out."
Jannali slid into position beside Galit, her spear Gosan extending from its collapsed form with a soft click, two small eyes blinking open. Her third eye remained hidden beneath her headscarf, but her brown eyes held no warmth. "Nah yeah, mate. You really want to dance with us?"
Atlas's fur bristled, blue sparks jumping between his fingers. His rust-red coat darkened as Electro built beneath his skin. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the evening air.
Jelly Squish wobbled behind them, his translucent body puffing up like a defensive balloon. "Bloop! Back off!" His voice squeaked higher than intended, ruining the intimidating effect.
Monster dropped from Bonk Punch's shoulder, landing on all fours. The large brown monkey bared his teeth, his topknot swinging as he chattered a warning.
---
Beckman watched the standoff from a few paces back, his hand resting on his pistol. His sharp eyes swept the scene—Vista locked with Marya, Thatch and Haruta facing off against Galit's group, the growing crowd of dock workers and merchants stopping to stare.
He glanced at Hongo, at Limejuice, at Bonk Punch. "Last time?"
Hongo shrugged, his medical bag swinging. "No idea."
Limejuice shook his head, his scarred face blank.
Bonk Punch scratched his chin, condused.
Charlie Leonard Wooley adjusted his pith helmet, his round glasses reflecting the lantern light. He clutched his leather satchel to his chest, scrolls poking from the overflowing pockets. "I am equally confused," he said, clearing his throat. "Ahem. I have no record of prior engagement between our associates and these—" he squinted at Haruta, "—rather short individuals."
Beckman's brow furrowed. "Huh."
---
Sanza cheered, fisting the air in mock support, "Get him, Big Sis!" His voice rang across the dock, high and excited. "Show him what happens!"
Jelly bounced. "Yeah! Bloop! Show him!"
Monster chattered agreement.
Beckman's attention shifted to the crowd. More people gathered at the edge of the dock, pointing and whispering. A fishmonger abandoned his stall. A group of sailors climbed onto crates for a better view.
"Shanks," Beckman said, his voice low.
Shanks nodded, his expression hardening. "Yeah. I know."
---
Vista lunged again, his blades cutting a diagonal arc toward Marya's shoulder. She sidestepped, Nisshoku rising to deflect—clang—the impact shuddering through her arms. She did not retreat. She did not advance. She simply turned his momentum aside, letting his own strength work against him.
"Stand still!" Vista roared.
Marya tilted her head. "No."
Then Shanks stepped between them.
Griffon cleared its sheath in a flash of steel and purpose. Shanks swung the blade in a wide arc—not at either of them, but into the space between. The force of the swing pushed Vista back a step. It pushed Marya back a half-step.
She lowered Nisshoku, her smirk fading into something neutral.
Vista's chest heaved. "Stay out of this, Shanks!"
Shanks glared at him, his eyes hard as flint. "Calm. Down."
The words carried weight, not volume. Vista's jaw worked, but he did not swing again.
Shanks turned his head, fixing his gaze on Thatch. "What are you doing here anyway?"
Thatch's posture relaxed by degrees, his hands rising in a placating gesture. "We're on our way to Wano. To pay our respects." His voice dropped. "For Izo."
Shanks held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, slow and solemn. "I see."
The name hung between them, heavy as a stone.
Vista's grip on his swords did not loosen. His eyes stayed locked on Marya, burning with something that looked like raging hunger.
He raised his blade, pointing the tip at her chest. "You will return what you stole."
Marya raised a brow. Her expression shifted through a series of micro-expressions—consideration, boredom, dismissal—before settling on a look of exaggerated thought. She tapped her chin with one finger.
"Let me think," she said, drawing the words out. "Hmm. No."
Vista's face flushed red. "You—"
He shifted his weight, preparing to charge.
Shanks stepped up, planting himself directly in Vista's path. His hand rested on Griffon's hilt, casual but ready. He did not draw. He did not need to.
His glare said everything.
Vista froze, his boots scraping the wood as he aborted the charge. His swords trembled in his grip, but he did not swing. Could not swing. The weight of Shanks's presence pressed down on him like a physical thing.
The crowd made an audible gulp.
Even the gulls stopped squabbling.
Marya watched from behind Shanks's shoulder, her golden eyes unreadable. She slid Nisshoku back into its sheath with a soft click, the red runes fading to black. The evening air carried the scent of salt and distant cooking fires.
Vista's jaw clenched so tight his teeth creaked. His knuckles stayed white around his sword hilts, though his arms had lowered.
Shanks did not smile. "Walk away, Vista. This isn't the place. And it isn't the time."
---
At the far end of the dock, near the submarine's black hull, four figures stepped onto the wood. Lucky Roux led the way, a crate of provisions balanced on his shoulder. Ember bounced beside him, her neon-pink space buns catching the lantern light. Aurélie walked with her hand resting on Anathema's hilt, her silver hair loose and swaying. Eliane trailed behind, struggling with a crate nearly as large as her torso.
Lucky Roux's head turned first, his round face snapping toward the clash. Ember's mismatched eyes—one icy blue, one gold—narrowed. Aurélie's brow furrowed, her steel-gray gaze locking onto the tension ahead.
"Ewww," Ember said, her nose wrinkling. "What is going on down there?"
Lucky Roux shifted his crate to his other shoulder. "Thinks we should go and check it out."
Aurélie nodded once, sharp and decisive.
Eliane set her crate down with a grunt, her silver hair escaping its high ponytail. "What about the crates?"
Aurélie gestured to the planks at their feet. "Put them down here. They are close enough to the vessels. No one will bother with them."
They lowered their crates—thunk, clatter, a soft clink of glass jars—and started toward the commotion. Ember's boots scraped the wood. Aurélie's long silver hair swayed. Lucky Roux's bulk cast a wide shadow. Eliane hurried after them, "wait for me!"
---
Vista's jaw clenched so tight his teeth creaked. His knuckles stayed white around his sword hilts, though his arms had lowered.
Shanks did not smile. "Walk away, Vista. This isn't the place. And it isn't the time."
For a long-charged moment, the tension was so thick no edge would have been able to sever it. The gulls had gone quiet. Even the lantern flames stilled.
Then Vista's shoulders dropped. Not surrender—acknowledgment. He took a step back, then another, his boots scraping the wood.
Shanks released a breath he had not realized he was holding.
"Good." He turned his head, scanning the crowd, the dock, the faces watching from every shadow. "Now. What did she take?"
Haruta stepped forward, their voice calm, measured. "Something from Fishman Island. Jinbe asked us to retrieve it."
Shanks nodded, slow and thoughtful. "I see."
His gaze shifted to Marya. She stood with her weight on one hip, arms loose at her sides, expression carved from stone. No guilt. No explanation. Just the quiet confidence of someone who owed nothing to anyone.
Shanks did not ask her for details. He read the answer in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin. Whatever she had taken, she had her reasons.
Beckman pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it with a flick of his thumb. The flame caught, orange and brief, and he inhaled. Smoke curled from his nostrils as he hid a smirk behind his hand—a smirk of approval.
"What do you want to do, Chief?" Beckman asked.
Shanks considered. His fingers drummed once against Griffon's hilt. Then his face brightened with something that looked dangerously like entertainment and he announced, "It sounds like this should be settled by a duel."
Marya raised a brow, slow and unimpressed.
Vista's teeth ground together. "I can settle it right here. Right now."
Marya's smirk returned, thin as a blade. "Oh, can you—"
"ENOUGH!"
Shanks's voice cracked across the dock like a thunderclap. Vista flinched. A fishmonger dropped a crate. Even the gulls scattered.
"I won't let you two destroy the dock!" Shanks's glare swept from Vista to Marya and back again.
Vista jolted, his eyes widening as he looked around—at the wooden planks beneath his feet, at the stalls and shops lining the waterfront, at the crowd of merchants and sailors who had stopped to stare. His chest heaved. He had not considered the collateral damage. The realization landed like a bucket of cold water.
Thatch placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard. "He's right."
Vista nodded, his jaw working. "Quite right." His voice came rough, reluctant. "My apologies. This should be concluded in a more appropriate location." His blades slid into their sheaths with a reluctant shing.
Shanks nodded. "Good. Tomorrow morning, then."
He looked to Beckman, who gave a short nod. "I will make a call and find a suitable location."
Shanks turned back to the group. "It's settled, then."
He looked to Marya. She shrugged, her voice flat as day-old beer. "Fine."
---
Vista, Haruta, and Thatch turned to leave—and stopped.
Lucky Roux, Ember, Aurélie, and Eliane stood a few paces away, watching. Eliane looked up at the tall Whitebeard commanders with wide blue eyes. A smudge of flour still marked her cheek.
"Should we bring snacks?" Eliane asked.
The Red Hair Pirates burst into laughter—deep, rolling, helpless laughter that echoed across the dock. Bonk Punch doubled over. Limejuice wiped his eyes. Hongo shook his head, chuckling.
Lucky Roux looked down at Eliane with genuine approval, his round face creasing into a wide grin. "Good thinking ahead."
Vista stared at the child as if she had grown a second head.
---
"THERE YOU ARE!"
The shriek cut through the laughter like a blade.
Vesta Lavana bounded down the dock, her rainbow hair streaming behind her like a flag. Her violet eyes were wide, her platform boots clacking against the wood. Mikasi bounced against her back, its strings humming with agitation.
"I need your help!" Vesta skidded to a stop in the middle of the group, buckling over and gasping for breath, oblivious to the lingering tension. She bolts upright, in between pants she announces, "THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!"
She paused, her gaze landing on Vista, Haruta, and Thatch. Her head tilted. "Oh, hi. Are you new?"
Vista's jaw hung open. Haruta blinked. Thatch raised his eyebrows.
Then Vesta's face lit up like sunrise. "Did you hear about my concert?" She squealed, clapping her hands. "Is that why you came? You heard this is my first official concert and you came to see!"
Vista, Haruta, and Thatch exchanged completely confused looks.
Aurélie stepped forward, her silver hair a steaming banner. She placed a hand on Vesta's shoulder, firm and grounding. "You said there was an emergency."
Vesta snapped to attention, her spine straightening. She pounded her closed fist into her open palm with a sharp smack.
"OH RIGHT! I ALMOST FORGOT!" Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "I NEED MERCH."
Aurélie raised a brow. "Merch?"
"Merchandise! Mementos for people to remember—" Vesta waved her arms wide.
Eliane jumped up, her hand shooting into the air. "Oh, I know! We can bake cookies!"
Vesta cocked her head, holding her chin. Her rainbow hair shifted through shades of orange and yellow as she considered. Then she beamed.
"That sounds great, but I might need more than that."
---
Shanks stood with his head bowed, his shoulders trembling. His hand covered his mouth, but it could not hide the shaking.
Marya, bored, walked past Vista. Her golden eyes slid sideways, catching his glare.
"The morning, then."
Vista's head swiveled, his voice cracking. "The morning?"
Marya's eyes narrowed. She did not answer. She kept walking.
Aurélie nodded, taking Vesta by the arm. "Yes. Let us see what we can do about your merchandise dilemma."
Vesta allowed herself to be guided, still muttering about T-shirt designs. "I was thinking maybe glow-in-the-dark ink? No, too expensive. But so cool—"
Shanks lifted his head. His face was red, his eyes wet with tears of laughter.
The Red Hair Pirates burst out again—a second wave, louder than the first. Bonk Punch slapped his knee. Limejuice leaned against a mooring post for support. Hongo doubled over, wheezing.
They turned and made their way back toward the ships—the submarine's black bulk on one side, the Red Force's dragon prow on the other. Sanza ran ahead, reenacting the duel for Monster, who chattered back. Jelly bounced beside them, leaving glittery trails on the wood. Galit and Atlas fell into step, their banter sharp and easy.
Vista, Haruta, and Thatch stood where they were, watching the chaotic group disappear into the dusk.
The lanterns flickered.
A fishmonger coughed.
Vista turned to Thatch, his expression hollow. "Did that child just ask us about cookies?"
Thatch patted his shoulder. "I think she did."
Haruta stared after Vesta's retreating rainbow hair. "What just happened?"
Vista shook his head slowly. "I have no idea."
They stood in silence for a long moment, watching the laughter fade into the evening.
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