He woke to a sharp sting in his head, a heavy weight pressing down on his thoughts as if someone had tried to steal his memory. Slowly, he opened his eyes. A haze clouded his vision. He didn't know where he was, how he ended up here, or even what was happening to him. Amid this confusion, only one thing reached his ears—a gentle, warm voice asking softly:
"What are you doing lying here… on the balcony?"
A simple question in words, yet it pierced him like a disturbing truth. He couldn't find an answer—not in his mind, not in his heart. A moment of silence passed before he shivered inside: Wait… what am I even doing here?
He rose hesitantly, feeling the ground beneath his feet as though it were still foreign to him. His gaze fell upon a delicate face—quietly beautiful, carrying a presence that imposed itself without effort. A young woman, barely in her twenties, with hair black as night draping gently over her shoulders, and deep brown eyes that seemed to hold stories yet untold. Her simple attire, neat and formal in dark shades traced with threads of white, suggested she was one of the castle's servants.
Glancing around, he realized he stood upon a high balcony, encircled by an intricately carved stone balustrade, adorned with old patterns now veiled by green moss. Behind him rose the towering structure—massive gray stones defying the ages, its tall windows exuding the solemn majesty of ancient fortresses. The breeze carried with it the scent of the nearby sea and the cries of distant birds, deepening his sense of estrangement.
"You haven't told me, Ace—what are you doing here?" Her voice came again, soft but now heavier upon his heart.
Startled, he replied quickly, trying to steady himself:
"N-no… nothing. I just lay down here because I felt a little tired."
But his words froze in his throat. Wait… how does she know my name?
His mind began racing with tangled questions: Had the people of Goa Kingdom discovered who he was? He, who had spent nearly his whole life hiding among the mountains with Dadan and her bandits? Or was it all just an illusion—a figment conjured by his dazed mind?
Stepping back nervously, he stammered:
"Forgive me, my lady… I shouldn't be here. I need to return to where I belong. It seems I came here by mistake."
Without giving her a chance to respond, he rushed toward the balcony door, his trembling hands pushing it open, then hurried down the cold stone stairs into a dim corridor, his steps quickening as though fleeing from a truth he dared not face. Behind him, her melodic voice called out:
"Wait… young master!"
The words froze inside him, though his feet kept running. Young master? Why would she call me that?
He had never been treated this way. Whenever he sneaked near the Goa royal lands, he was but an unwanted shadow. How could he not be? He was the child of Mt. Colubo, of Dadan and her outlaws—the despised, the shunned, forbidden from crossing the governor's gates. He had always remembered the cruelty, the scorn, the hatred poured upon anyone not of "noble" blood.
Suddenly, a flood of longing washed over him. The Gray Terminal. The place branded into his memory with smoke and fire, where he shared adventures with Luffy and Sabo. Their laughter, their reckless schemes, their promises to always stay together—all rose in his mind like ghosts to haunt him.
Grinding his teeth as he ran, he cursed under his breath:
"Damn it…! Where are you, idiots? Luffy, Sabo… why didn't you come with me? How could you leave me here alone?"
His voice was muffled, but it brimmed with bitterness. His anger was not just for them—but for the emptiness consuming him as he realized he was facing this world alone.
He quickened his pace, down the endless stairs, desperate not to be seen by anyone but that maid whose voice still chased him. At the stair's end, he halted suddenly—breath heaving, eyes widening like a child beholding a world never seen before.
Before him stretched a grand hall unlike anything he had ever known. The floor was draped in deep crimson carpet, embroidered with golden patterns like rivers of light beneath his feet. White marble columns stood tall on either side, glittering beneath crystal chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling. The ceiling itself was a masterpiece, painted with vivid scenes of ancient battles and legendary heroes, rimmed with gilded ornaments that sparkled with every flicker of light.
Servants moved gracefully across the hall, dressed in neat uniforms, some carrying silver trays, others arranging furniture or opening ornate doors. The place pulsed with life—yet Ace felt like an intruder, an outsider who didn't belong.
As he gazed in awe, a voice rose behind him. He stiffened, expecting the maid again, but this voice was deeper, heavier. He turned slowly, and there she was—an older woman, perhaps in her sixties, yet her features were sharp, her posture firm, her eyes burning with intelligence and authority.
"What are you doing here, boy? And what are these strange clothes you're wearing?" she demanded sternly, scanning him with piercing eyes.
Then she snapped at a nearby servant, her tone biting:
"Have you still not learned to do what I ask of you?"
While she scolded the servant, Ace stood frozen, staring in bewilderment. He had no idea who this woman was, nor why she spoke to him as if he were a part of this castle. Inside, his mind reeled: Do they… think I belong here?
"Hurry, Ace. Go with her to get ready for the banquet. Move along—I don't want to hear a word from you!"
Her command cut through him like an arrow. No room for argument. She turned a sharp glance at the maid, who instantly jumped into action. She grabbed Ace by the hand—his rough hand resisting slightly—yet dragged him swiftly through a long corridor until they reached a large chamber.
Ace's heart screamed: Who am I here? Why do they treat me as one of them? But his mind chose silence, submission—for now.
All he could do was adapt… and wait for the chance to escape. Yet with each step, his heart ached for Luffy and Sabo—their laughter, their forest chaos, their portside dreams. He longed for every detail of the life he knew—far from this velvet prison.
Half an hour passed. Then the door opened, and Ace stepped out.
He was no longer the same.
His short black hair fell neatly across his brow, sharpening the intensity of his gaze. His brown eyes shone brighter in the light, as though concealing secrets no one else could fathom.
And his clothes… a fitted black suit, sharp in detail, with a crisp white shirt and a dark tie, cloaking him in a dignity he had never known.
The servants who crossed the hall froze in astonishment. Some dropped what they carried, others covered their mouths in shock. Whispers spread quickly before one voice rang aloud:
"By the heavens…!"
Then others followed in chorus:
"I've never seen anything like it!"
"He's… magnificent!"
And Ace, at the center of it, stood motionless—trapped in a play whose script he didn't know. A faint, mocking smile tugged at his lips, hiding only one truth: all he wanted was to escape… to return to his real life.
The castle soon roared back to life—servants rushing in every direction, orders echoing down the corridors. But Ace remained still, overwhelmed by the strangeness of the world he'd been thrown into without reason. As he watched, his ears caught a familiar voice—the same woman who had ordered the maid to prepare him earlier.
Cautiously, he approached a massive polished wooden door and pressed his ear against its cold surface. A war raged inside him: the need to know the truth, or at least her name, so he wouldn't be left stumbling in a maze of confusion and coincidence.
Then came the voices.
Hers first—sharp, yet weighted with responsibility:
"Handle him with care… I don't want us repeating past mistakes."
A young man's voice rose in response, furious and mocking:
"Care? Everything that's happened is because of him! He's the reason for all this chaos! If he hadn't appeared, none of this would have gone wrong."
A brief silence. Then the woman again, this time deeper, heavier with pain:
"No… don't place the blame on him. It isn't his fault. The fault lies with his mother. With me. With your father. We were the ones who failed to raise our daughter properly. We're the ones who let things fall into disaster."
Ace's heart trembled at her words. His mother? Their daughter? A disaster? None of it made sense. It was as though they spoke a language his mind understood yet refused to accept.
He stayed glued to the door, eyes staring blankly as his mind screamed with endless questions: How do they know me? What do they mean? What really happened?
Suddenly the door burst open, slamming against the wall. A young man stormed out, his face twisted with anger, eyes blazing. He stopped for a moment—finding Ace right there. His gaze was filled with disgust, as if Ace's very existence were a crime. Then he strode away, his footsteps striking the floor like thunder.
For an instant, Ace felt his blood turn to ice. He saw me. He caught me eavesdropping. A desperate wish rose inside—that the ground would swallow him, hide him away from this suffocating palace. It was obvious the bond between him and that young man was anything but good. Strained, hostile, perhaps broken long before he even realized.
Yet in the midst of his fear, a strange shiver coursed through him. A faint, inexplicable sense that he belonged here—that he was not an outsider at all.
Shaking his head violently, he growled inwardly: No! I need to get out. I need to escape this madness.
He turned sharply, striding through the corridors until he found himself once again in the vast hall that had first dazzled him. But this time he did not pause. He marched to its far end, where an enormous golden-ornamented door stood.
Pushing it open, light burst into his face—the sun's glare forcing him to shield his eyes. Wide steps descended into a sprawling courtyard. He moved down them slowly, heart pounding fast.
But at the bottom, he froze.
Before him stretched a chaos unlike anything inside the castle. A massive square, teeming with people. Men and women in rich garments—bright silks, embroidered cloaks, tall feathered hats. Some clearly courtiers of the ruler, speaking with lofty airs, while others seemed townsfolk, eyes sparkling with curiosity, jostling in every direction.
Flags fluttered atop stone towers, music blared from afar, hawkers' cries mingled with lively chatter. The whole kingdom seemed gathered for one purpose: a grand festival—or perhaps a long-awaited speech from the ruler. The air was thick with anticipation, buzzing with restless noise.
Ace tilted his head skyward, desperate for an escape from the madness around him. He expected blue skies, serene clouds, a shining sun. Instead, what he saw chilled him.
Above their heads stretched a vast dome, like an enormous shimmering bubble enclosing the entire kingdom. A translucent barrier, glimmering in the light, wrapped around the city like an unbreakable cage.
His chest tightened. Since when was the Goa Kingdom trapped beneath a dome?
A bitter thought struck him: Have they grown so arrogant they refuse even to breathe the same air as us? That they would build themselves their own sky, their own air?
And then came the blow that crushed him. A heavy certainty: I don't belong here. Not in this rotten world. Not among those who treat everyone outside as insects, not people.
Suddenly, a soft hand clasped his own. He turned, startled—to find her again. The same woman from the beginning. Something about her kindness stood apart from everything else he'd seen here. Without a word, she guided him gently through the restless crowd, seating him in one of the grand chairs lined in the front rows.
His breath still unsteady, he watched as the chaos slowly stilled. The once-roaring voices dwindled to silence, until the entire square held its breath. It was as if nobles, servants, even children, had all been waiting for this one moment.
Ace sat stiff, scanning his surroundings. Rows of nobles and their children surrounded him, glittering with jewels, draped in extravagant attire, gazes filled with superiority as though they owned the very earth. For one fleeting moment, he wished—deep in his heart—that he and those he loved could live such a life. A life of comfort, free of danger and pursuit.
But the illusion shattered quickly. He knew this world held no justice. Only strength, hierarchy, and oppression. No matter what one did, someone like him would never be allowed to be like them.
Minutes dragged on. The crowd stayed fixed, eyes trained on the horizon, as though awaiting a vision that might never come. Ace scoffed inwardly: Fools… waiting for a mirage. I should use this distraction to slip away.
He rose slowly, intent on leaving—but his steps froze.
A tall man passed before him, clad entirely in black. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face, revealing only sharp eyes that glinted like blades. His lower face was hidden by a warrior's mask, and in one hand he carried a black staff, though he bore it with an ease that belied any real need.
As he walked, a slip of white paper fell from his cloak. Without thinking, Ace called out with almost childlike innocence:
"Hey, mister! You dropped this!"
The man halted. Slowly, he turned back. His eyes met Ace's—strange, piercing—and a faint smile curled beneath his mask as he spoke in a voice calm yet heavy:
"Keep it… It belongs to you, Portgas D. Ace."
Ace froze. At first, he thought it a joke, mere coincidence. But then the dread sank in—How does he know my full name? A name known only to so very few…
He bent to pick up the paper, though his fingers shook as they touched it. It wasn't just paper. It was like a message, pure white bordered with delicate golden patterns, as though crafted especially for him.
The moment he held it up, images stormed his mind. Memories, old and buried, crashed into him like a raging tide.
His body trembled. His breath caught in his chest.
I… remember.
A warm tear slid down his cheek. He made no attempt to stop it.
In that moment, Ace was no longer trapped beneath a dome, no longer surrounded by haughty nobles.
He was simply a boy—standing face-to-face with his past, with everything his heart had hidden for years.
.
.