The East Blue sun beat down on the deck of the Red Force, the air thick with the scent of salt and adventure. Laughter echoed across the planks, mingling with the creak of the rigging and the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull. At the center of the merriment, perched on a barrel, was Uta. At thirteen years old, she commanded attention with her vibrant presence.
Her bright, inquisitive eyes absorbed everything around her, reflecting the boundless energy that seemed to radiate from her very being. Her vibrant red and white hair, a stark contrast that mirrored her adoptive father's own fiery locks, bounced as she clapped her hands, urging the crew on in their boisterous revelry.
Dressed in a simple, practical outfit suitable for life at sea, she nonetheless possessed an undeniable flair, a natural star quality that hinted at the performer she would one day become. A worn songbook lay open in her lap, its pages filled with handwritten lyrics and melodies, a testament to her burgeoning talent and unwavering passion for music.
Her voice, clear and full of life, soared into the sky as she sang a lively sea shanty. The crew of the Red Hair Pirates, some of the most feared men in the world, was utterly captivated. Lucky Roux had paused mid-bite of a massive leg of meat, a wide grin on his face. Yasopp leaned against the mast, a wistful smile playing on his lips, his thoughts likely drifting to a son he had not dared to meet.
From his place at the ship's rail, Shanks watched the scene, a genuine smile on his face. He looked every bit the carefree, fun-loving captain. But only one man saw the truth. Benn Beckman, standing nearby, noticed the tension in his captain's shoulders, the constant, weary vigilance in his eyes that never truly went away. He saw the way Shanks's smile didn't quite banish the shadows. A silent, knowing glance passed between them—the shared burden of a secret they carried for their princess.
Later that night, the celebration had long since faded. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the sea against the hull. Shanks quietly opened the door to Uta's cabin. She was fast asleep, her breathing soft and even, a picture of peaceful innocence. He stood there for a long moment, a father watching over his most precious treasure.
Then, she began to stir.
A whimper escaped her lips, and her face contorted in pain. A flicker of malevolent, purple-black energy, like a glitch in reality, crackled in the air above her bed. A single, discordant musical note hung in the silent room.
The temperature plummeted. A sign that the demon, Tot Musica, was stirring in her dreams.
Shanks didn't hesitate. Closing his eyes, he unleashed his Haki. It wasn't the terrifying, overwhelming force that could make armies faint. This was different. It was a warm, immensely powerful wave of pure willpower, a golden-red aura that enveloped Uta like a protective blanket. It was the Haki of a father, a guardian, pushing back the darkness, soothing the nightmare, and forcing the malevolent entity back into its cage deep within her soul.
After a few tense moments, the dark energy vanished. Uta's expression softened, and she sank back into a peaceful slumber. Shanks, however, looked weary, the constant vigilance taking its toll. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead before quietly closing the door.
He walked to his private study, the weight of the world on his shoulders. The room was filled with maps and intelligence reports. He poured himself a drink but didn't touch it. Instead, he stared at the large corkboard that dominated the wall.
It was a web of information, all converging on one point. There were maps of the Grand Line, with the island of Alabasta circled in red. There were classified World Government reports with the sensational newspaper clipping, its headline screaming about the death of former Vice Admiral Sakazuki.
And in the very center, pinned with a dagger, was a surprisingly detailed sketch. It depicted a man clad in black armor. But Shanks's focus wasn't on the man. It was on the colossal slab of iron on his back.
His fingers traced the rough outline of the Dragonslayer, his gaze burning with a desperate, all-consuming hope.
"A sword that devours devil..." he whispered into the silent room, the rumor feeling more like a prayer. "Just hold on a little longer, Uta."
Suddenly, silence of the study was shattered by a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the air. A prickling sensation washed over Shanks's skin, a warning bell that resonated deep within his bones. He recognized it instantly – the telltale sign of a Cipher Pol vessel closing in. His eyes narrowed, the weariness momentarily forgotten, replaced by the sharp focus of a predator. He knew they were coming, had been expecting them for weeks, but the timing couldn't be worse. He needed time to protect Uta.
Without a word, he strode out of his study, his long red coat billowing behind him like a crimson flame. He moved with a purpose that brooked no argument, his hand already instinctively reaching for the hilt of his saber, Gryphon.
As he emerged onto the deck, the scene that greeted him was one of controlled chaos. The Red Hair Pirates, a motley crew of seasoned veterans and battle-hardened warriors, were already at their stations with their weapons at the ready.
The festive atmosphere of the day had vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating efficiency.
Benn Beckman stood at the forefront with his ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes scanning the horizon with a practiced intensity. Lucky Roux, despite his jovial appearance, held a loaded flintlock pistol in his hand with unwavering gaze. Yasopp, perched high in the rigging, had already reloaded his sniper gun, ready to blast another head.
They had sensed it too, the encroaching presence of the World Government, the threat to their captain and their family. They were ready to defend them to the death.
Shanks surveyed his crew, a flicker of pride warming his heart. He didn't need to say a word. They knew what to do. He drew Gryphon, the polished blade gleaming in the moonlight. The air crackled with anticipation, the very sea seeming to hold its breath.
In a single, fluid motion, Shanks unleashed a devastating slash of Conqueror's Haki infused with his swordsmanship. The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic. The ocean itself seemed to recoil in terror, the waves parting before Gryphon's might as if struck by an invisible hand. A colossal chasm ripped through the sea, cleaving the waves in two and extending far beyond the horizon. The Cipher Pol vessel, caught directly in the path of the attack, stood no chance. It was bisected cleanly, the two halves of the ship sinking rapidly into the abyss, swallowed by the churning waters.
The Red Hair Pirates watched in grim satisfaction as World Government ship disappeared beneath the waves.
They knew that this was just a temporary reprieve, that the World Government would not take this attack lightly. But for now, they had bought themselves some time, some precious time to protect their captain and their princess.
As the last splinter of the Cipher Pol vessel vanished beneath the waves, a heavy silence descended upon the Red Force. The crew, though victorious, felt the weight of the act. It was a blatant declaration of war, a line crossed that could never be uncrossed.
Shanks sheathed Gryphon, the sound echoing in the stillness.
It had been years since he and his crew had abandoned the tumultuous New World for the relative calm and safety of the East Blue, but even here, they couldn't escape the long reach of the World Government.
Ever since the destruction of Elegia, the World Government had been targeting him with increasing intensity, their focus narrowing with disturbing precision on Uta. They knew about her powers, about Tot Musica, and they saw her as a threat, a weapon to be controlled or destroyed.
Shanks had initially planned to leave Uta at Elegia, believing that it would draw the World Government's attention away from her and onto himself. He was prepared to sacrifice himself to ensure her safety, to become a lightning rod for their hatred and fear.
But then, something had changed. He had heard whispers, tales carried on the wind, stories of a man named Guts, a survivor of Ohara who defied fate and fought against impossible odds to protect his daughter, Robin. Guts, who, despite having the entire world as his enemy and facing constant, unimaginable danger, never wavered in his commitment to keeping Robin safe.
Shanks had been deeply moved by Guts's tale. It had resonated with him on a profound level, challenging his own assumptions and forcing him to reconsider his plans. He realized that running away, abandoning Uta, was not the answer. He couldn't protect her by sacrificing her happiness, by denying her the love and security she deserved.
He made a decision then and there. He would keep Uta by his side, no matter the cost. He would protect her like Guts protected Robin, facing down any enemy, defying any obstacle, to ensure her safety and well-being. He would not let fear dictate his actions.
He would be a father, a guardian, a shield against the darkness.
Benn Beckman, who had been silently observing his captain, knew his captain already had enough on his plate. He stepped forward. "Want me to check on Ace, Captain?" he asked, his voice low and serious. "I'm still not convinced sending Ace to Whitebeard was the right call."
Shanks met his gaze, his eyes filled with fierce determination. "I know," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "But he deserves to know the truth, especially since he's in good hands. It breaks my heart to see him despise his father for no reason."
The world moved on, months blurring into a distant memory of battles fought and sacrifices made. As the morning sun cast long, lazy shadows across the wooden floor of Partys Bar on Dawn Island, Makino polished a glass with a calm and rhythmical movement. At a corner table, a young Uta sat pale and withdrawn, sketching in a notebook and humming a hesitant melody, a stark contrast to the vibrant star she was meant to be.
At the bar sat two men who were dangerously out of place in the weakest of the Four Blues, yet seemed perfectly at home. Benn Beckman cleaned his rifle silently. Beside him, Shanks, with eyeglasses perched on his nose – a disguise so simple it was almost absurd – swirled a drink in his mug, his gaze soft as he watched his daughter. He wasn't the boisterous pirate captain the world known as a Yonko; here, in this peaceful haven, he was simply a father, nursing his daughter back to health.
Makino smiled warmly, her gaze shifting from the quiet girl to the red-haired man. "It's good to see her looking so calm," she said, her voice a gentle murmur. "This island's peace seems to suit her."
"It does," Shanks agreed, taking a sip of his drink. "Thank you for your hospitality, Makino-san. It's not easy to find a place where we can just... be."
Makino let out a soft, almost weary sigh. "I wish I could offer the same peace to the other boy I look after."
He was about to ask more when the tavern door was thrown open with a force that made the windows rattle.
"MAKINO! I'M HERE FOR RICE CRACKERS AND A DRINK!"
Vice Admiral Garp strode in, his presence filling the room like a thunderclap. He glanced at the man with red hair and glasses. "Hm… you look familiar," he muttered. "Eh, probably just a resemblance." He plopped down on a stool, immediately grabbing a handful of crackers.
Shanks barely suppressed a sigh of relief. He was still amazed at the power of his disguise.
"Honestly," he boomed, crunching loudly, "Dealing with my family is more trouble than all the pirates in the Grand Line!" He took a long swig of rum directly from a bottle Makino had placed on the counter. "And Ace! That little brat ran off and joined a notorious pirate crew – all thanks to that bastard Shanks whispering in his ear!"
Unbeknownst to Garp, the very "bastard" he was complaining about sat right beside him, causing Makino to stifle a giggle.
Then, without warning, Garp swiveled toward Shanks once more, his eyes narrowed in concentration, as if trying to remember where he'd left his box of doughnuts last Tuesday. The bar fell silent, even Shanks' gulp was almost audible over the gentle ticking of the cuckoo clock behind the bar.
Garp stared intently at Shanks for an excruciatingly long time, his gaze intense enough to melt butter. Benn Beckman tightened his grip on the flintlock rifle he'd just polished with scented oil, bracing himself for the worst.
"It's the bear, isn't it?" Garp finally asked, his voice low and gravelly with flecks of rice cracker scattering from his mouth.
Shanks stammered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "Y-yes?"
"The clawing mark on your eyes," Garp said, leaning closer, sniffing the air. "I have a similar wound on my chest. And is that... is that patchouli I smell?"
"Ah, yes," Shanks chuckled awkwardly, forcing a laugh. "The bear claw. Hahaha!"
Benn Beckman visibly relaxed, exhaling a sigh of relief and carefully placing the rifle back on the counter, making sure not to scratch the varnish.
"Must have hurt, bwahahaha!" Garp bellowed, then resumed devouring his rice crackers, scattering the crumbs around.
But then, Garp's head snapped back again, his gaze locking onto Shanks' missing arm, his eyes widening in sudden comprehension... or maybe just indigestion. "Wait a minute… your left hand…"
SHIT! HE NOTICE! Benn Beckman shot to his feet, snatching up his flintlock rifle, his mind racing, calculating the odds of escaping Garp. Scenarios flashed through his mind, escape routes, distractions…
"Was your hand eaten by a bear, too? Sorry for your loss."
Hearing those sympathetic words, Benn Beckman collapsed on the ground. He screamed in his mind, HE DIDN'T NOTICE AFTER ALL!
"Is he drunk?" Garp looks at Been, who lies on the ground. "Ah, where was I?" Then, turning back to Makino to resume his grumbling, completely missing the bead of sweat rolling down Shanks's forehead.
"Just got the reports from Loguetown," Garp grumbled, crumbs flying everywhere, "Mass hysteria. Apparently, a man called the Black Swordsman showed up with a ship pulled by a freakin' sea king! Who even does that?"
Shanks, who had been trying to disappear, slowly turned his head.
Garp continued, completely oblivious. "And get this – The report said he was just going on a picnic! A family vacation! As if that makes any sense!"
Shanks's mind was a runaway train; all previous thoughts swept aside. The panic had vanished, replaced by a single, urgent destination: action, and consequences be damned.
Garp slammed his empty bottle on the counter, letting out a satisfied belch. "Right! Enough grumbling. Time to find that brat and knock some sense into him before he runs off after his brother!" With a final wave to Makino, the Vice Admiral strode out of the bar, his departure as loud and disruptive as his arrival.
The quiet, peaceful atmosphere slowly returned, settling over the tavern like a warm blanket. But for Shanks, the calm was shattered.
Benn Beckman, who had been listening silently, caught his captain's eye. He saw the shift, the flicker of resolve that meant a decision had been made.
Shanks downed the rest of his drink in one smooth motion and placed the empty mug on the counter. He stood up, his presence seeming to grow, filling the room with the quiet authority of a king.
"Benn," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Bring out the weapons. All of them."
He walked towards the door, his steps sure and purposeful. Uta watched him with a curious and hopeful look on her face.
"Where are we going, Father?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.
Shanks paused at the door, turning back to offer her a slight, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"To find you a cure."