-Real World-
Ada Wong watched her weaker, more vulnerable self displayed across the Sky Screen and physically cringed. Goosebumps crawled up her arms as embarrassment heated her cheeks. She'd never imagined Kaito would write her into such a melodramatic tragedy—a woman reduced to tears and desperate pleas in a man's arms. It was almost insulting.
In her previous life, her real life in that other world—Leon S. Kennedy had moved her with his kindness and earnest sincerity. But she'd never been "redeemed" by him, never abandoned her profession or principles for love. She'd remained Ada Wong, the mercenary spy who changed employers like other women changed shoes. A professional. Independent. Beholden to no one.
Some of those dramas claimed to feature strong female leads, but really just showed women dependent on male protagonists—Mary Sues wrapped in the pretense of feminism. Ada had always been different. She'd saved Leon as often as he'd saved her, supplied him with weapons and equipment, stood as his equal rather than his damsel.
But here, in this world, in this role Kaito had written for her? She had no choice but to play along.
She was an adult, after all. Mature enough to understand that when resistance was impossible, adaptation became survival. Ada glanced sideways at the young Rob Lucci standing beside her, in the present timeline, already a consummate killing machine forged by the World Government's cruelest training programs.
Making someone that thoroughly indoctrinated see reason? That would be no easy task.]
"Franky's been deliberately hiding from us," Ada reported, her tone clipped and professional as she addressed the other CP9 agents gathered in their Water 7 safehouse. "We dismantled his entire Franky Family operation—eliminated his subordinates, burned down his headquarters. Yet somehow, he's still evading capture."
She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall with calculated casualness. "I reviewed his file thoroughly before this mission. As one of Tom's apprentices, the man should possess fierce loyalty to his friends. The kind of person who'd throw his body in front of a Sea Train to save others. But now?" She shook her head. "His family's been destroyed, and he's just... hiding. Playing games in the shadows. Either his cyborg modifications included his brain, or we're missing something fundamental about his psychology."
Kalifa adjusted her glasses, but her attention wasn't on the tactical discussion. The blonde secretary's eyes kept flicking between Lucci and Ada with barely disguised fascination, a gossip's gleam in her gaze. "Even if the events shown five years in the future haven't happened yet," she said thoughtfully, "the two of you are already implicated by association. You understand that, don't you? Government agents don't simply... resign. There's no exit interview, no retirement package."
The implications hung heavy in the air. CP0 and CP9 operated under absolute loyalty or death. There were only three outcomes for agents: continued service until natural death, death in the field, or defection followed by execution. The concept of "peaceful retirement" was a fairy tale.
Kaku had initially been thrilled by his promotion to CP0 shown on the Sky Screen—a once-in-a-lifetime advancement for someone his age. But now? Now that joy had curdled into anxiety as he realized he was being pulled into a vortex of treason simply by proximity to Lucci and Ada's future relationship.
Why didn't future-me argue against it? he thought desperately, studying the Sky Screen's revelations. Why did I just go along with their defection like it was no big deal?
But no amount of protest would matter. The damage was done. In the eyes of everyone watching—including their superiors—Kaku was already on the same sinking ship as Lucci. The World Government's iron fist would fall on all three of them equally, guilty by association if not by deed.
Should they flee now, preemptively? Or surrender themselves and hope for mercy that would never come?
The atmosphere in the room had frozen solid, each agent lost in their own calculations of survival versus loyalty. The future timeline had become a self-fulfilling prophecy—even if they wanted to prove the Sky Screen wrong, who would believe their protests? The suspicion alone would be enough to destroy them.
Paranoia was a virus, and they were all infected.
-Broadcast-
Baby 5's suicidal nuclear fusion had carved a monument to destruction across Dressrosa's heart. The King's Plateau—once a symbol of royal authority crowned by Doflamingo's magnificent palace—had been reduced to a scorched crater. Buildings that had stood for centuries were now nothing but shadows burned into the stone. The very air shimmered with residual heat, and the smell of ozone mixed with death hung like a shroud.
Yet in the midst of total annihilation, a single structure remained.
Violet's cottage stood defiant in a small circle of untouched earth, protected by a shimmering barrier of transparent energy. The princess had acted on pure maternal instinct in those final seconds before the explosion, wrapping her home in the power of her Giro Giro no Mi (Glare-Glare Fruit). The technique had never been designed for defense, but desperation bred innovation. She'd visualized the barrier, seen it protecting her children with such absolute certainty that reality had no choice but to comply.
Now, as the light faded and the barrier dissolved, the cottage door opened.
A figure entered—tall, wearing weathered leather armor and a distinctive silver mask that covered his entire face. His movements carried the weight of age and weariness, but also the disciplined grace of a trained swordsman.
Violet's breath caught. Despite the mask, despite the years of separation, she knew that silhouette like she knew her own reflection.
"Father," she whispered, the word catching in her throat. "That's you, isn't it? It has to be..."
The masked swordsman paused, then slowly reached up to remove his helmet. Beneath the metal, an old face emerged—triangular in shape, deeply lined with suffering, but unmistakably the features Violet had known her entire childhood.
"Violet," King Riku said softly, his voice rough from disuse. "It's been far too long. Are those..." His gaze shifted past his daughter to the two small girls peeking out from behind her skirts. "Are those your children?"
Character Notes: Riku Doldo III, former King of Dressrosa, leader of the resistance movement, father of Scarlett and Violet
The reunion carried the weight of years—three years since Doflamingo had imprisoned him after the failed rebellion. King Riku had survived the dungeon's tortures through sheer stubborn will, kept alive only by the slim hope that someday he might see his family again. His escape today owed everything to Roronoa Zoro's battle with Diamante—their duel had literally carved through the King's Plateau's terrain, creating fissures that reached even to the deepest prison cells.
But more than Zoro's intervention, King Riku owed his survival to having a daughter with power. Violet's Giro Giro no Mi had allowed her to monitor his condition from afar, to smuggle food and medicine through sympathetic guards, to keep him alive when Doflamingo's cruelty would have killed lesser men.
"Girls," Violet said gently, her voice steadier now as she gestured her daughters forward. "Don't be afraid. This is your grandfather—my father. He's family."
Anna, the younger of the two sisters, responded with the fearless trust only children possessed. Her face lit up with innocent joy as she grabbed her sister's hand and tugged her forward, practically bouncing across the room. "Grandpa!" she chirped sweetly, her voice like bells. "Hello, Grandpa! Mama said you were away, but now you're here!"
Elsa, however, remained wary. The older girl had inherited her mother's caution along with her aristocratic bearing. She allowed Anna to pull her along but kept her posture rigid, her blue eyes studying this stranger with the suspicious assessment of someone who'd learned young that the world was dangerous.
"Hello, Grandfather," Elsa said formally, her voice barely above a whisper. Then she immediately retreated behind Violet's skirts again, one hand clutching the fabric protectively.
King Riku's weathered face softened as he looked at his granddaughters—one open and trusting, one guarded and afraid. Both beautiful. Both carrying the unmistakable marks of royal bloodline despite their circumstances. His heart ached with a grandfather's love and a king's guilt.
"You're both so beautiful," he said quietly, blinking back tears. "You have your mother's grace. Time truly does fly—it seems like just yesterday Violet herself was this small, and now she's a mother." His voice carried layers of unspoken pain. If only I'd been stronger. If only I'd protected my kingdom better. These children should have grown up as princesses, not hidden away like shameful secrets.
Fifteen years had passed since Doflamingo's conquest. Fifteen years of Violet's suffering—reduced from beloved princess to caged bird, valuable only for her Devil Fruit ability. In the pirate world, beauty was often a curse for women, making them targets for men with power and no conscience. If Doflamingo hadn't found her Giro Giro no Mi useful for intelligence gathering, Violet's fate would have been immeasurably worse.
"Father, you must be exhausted," Violet said, pushing aside her own complicated emotions to focus on practical care. "Please, come sit in the inner room. I'll prepare something for you to eat and drink. You've... you've been through so much."
Three years of imprisonment under Doflamingo's sadistic supervision. The fact that her father had survived at all was miraculous. She'd seen glimpses through her power—the beatings, the starvation, the psychological torture designed to break his spirit without killing his body. He needed rest, food, and time to heal.
Anna, true to her nature, immediately claimed her grandfather's attention. She climbed onto his lap with the casual familiarity children showed to adults they instinctively trusted, her small hands patting his weathered cheek. "Grandpa, you have to stay this time, okay? Don't leave again. Mama gets so sad when people leave."
The girl's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, as though sharing a secret. "Sometimes I see her crying alone in her room when she thinks we're sleeping. She tries to be quiet, but I can hear. She's been so sad for so long. But she smiled when she saw you! A real smile, not the pretend ones."
King Riku's throat tightened. He wrapped his arms around his youngest granddaughter, holding her with the gentleness of someone who'd been denied affection for years. "I'm not leaving," he promised hoarsely. "I'm too old and too tired to keep running. This is where I belong—with my family."
His hand stroked Anna's hair, and his mind drifted to his other daughter. His eldest. Scarlett, who'd died too young, leaving behind a daughter of her own. I failed you, he thought, the familiar guilt pressing down like a physical weight. I failed as a king, couldn't protect my people, couldn't even protect my own child.
Thanks to Sugar's defeat and the breaking of her Hobi Hobi no Mi (Hobby-Hobby Fruit) curse, his memories of Kyros had finally returned. The legendary gladiator, turned into a toy soldier for a decade, forgotten by everyone who'd once loved him—including his own wife and daughter. That one-legged toy had saved King Riku's life twice during the resistance operations, risking everything despite having no memory of their connection.
How can I ever repay such devotion? King Riku wondered. He lost years with his family because of my failure to stop Doflamingo. He deserves better than my hollow gratitude.
When Violet emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine she'd been saving for a special occasion, King Riku didn't immediately reach for the food. Instead, he looked up at his daughter with the question that had haunted him since regaining his memories.
"Violet," he said carefully, watching her face. "Do you know where Rebecca is? I never saw her in the prison. Is Kyros's daughter safe? Is she... is she well?"
The transformation was instant and terrible.
Every trace of warmth vanished from Violet's expression like frost spreading across glass. Her gentle smile froze, then shattered. The tray trembled in her hands before she set it down on the table with excessive care, as though afraid she might otherwise throw it.