Chapter 87: Clouds Over Alubarna
(POV: Sunny)
The adrenaline from Nanohana was still humming in my veins, but it was starting to feel more like a hangover from gravity than a victory lap. Alabasta nights are beautiful, sure—bruised violet skies and stars you could almost grab if you weren't busy trying to breathe—but the real transformation wasn't the scenery. It was the logistics.
(To the readers): You know, the author always writes the "interesting" parts. You get the romantic walks under the Alabastan moon, the kisses that taste like spice and silk, and the dramatic confessions that make your heart do that stupid flip. But they conveniently forget the real killer. The actual boss fight. Shopping with six women.
My own shopping trip? Fifteen minutes. I'm a simple man. I bought a new coat because the old one smelled like sea salt and regret, and I grabbed some snacks. Efficiency is a virtue, people. But for the girls? It was an all-day tactical maneuver.
Nami was the worst. She's been treating me like a heavy bag of gold ever since we hit the merchant district. She was obsessed with high-thread-count silks and navigation tools, barking about "investments" while her fingers stayed hooked in my bicep like a mortgage. Every time I lagged, she threatened to double my interest rates. I didn't even know I had debt, but apparently, existing is a billable expense in her world.
Then there's Aqua. Look, I love the goddess, but the woman went wild. She was hunting for "divine vibes" in jewelry stores, piling bags onto me while posing like she was still on her throne. Nojiko was at least practical—gardening tools and citrus-scented perfumes—but she spent the whole time brushing her hip against mine, sending spikes of static through my brain that made it very hard to focus on the price of tangerines.
Lucy was in her own world, buying anything fluffy or cloud-themed. Plushies, blankets, and enough candy to give a giant a cavity. Every time I looked at her, she had those heart eyes going, staring at me like I was the last piece of wagyu on the planet. Robin, ever the class act, was selective—rare books and one black dress that probably cost more than the Merry's hull—while Vivi was busy buying gifts for her father and palace staff, chasing Karoo around when he got distracted by shiny objects.
By the time we got back to the ship, the deck looked like a new island had formed. A mountain of bags, silk, and spices. I sighed, leaning against the railing. "But hey," I muttered to the empty air, "seeing them happy was worth it... mostly."
The silence didn't last. I heard voices coming from the figurehead—excited, high-pitched, and definitely suspicious. I walked over and found Lucy talking to the Merry. And I don't mean just talking; she was gesturing wildly, and the Merry, because why not?—was responding with happy baas.
The second they noticed me, Lucy turned a shade of red that would make a tomato jealous. She and Merry bolted past me toward Nami at the helm.
Whatever they're planning, it's gonna be chaotic. I can feel it in my Haki.
(POV: Lucy)
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Today is the day! We're going to Alubarna, and Sunny is going to sing! I can already see it—the soft lights, the way his voice will vibrate through the stage, the way he'll look at... well, hopefully me.
My heart was doing that thing where it tries to escape through my ribs. If I could just use my second transformation—full cloud mode—I could wrap the whole ship in a fluffy embrace. I could carry Sunny away to a nice, dark basement where no one else could look at his cute face. Just me, Sunny, and enough candy to last a lifetime.
"Lucy, you're drooling again," Merry whispered with a gentle baa.
I snapped out of it, wiping my chin. "I was just... thinking about my powers! Logistics, Merry!"
I explained the idea to her. If I focus enough, I can make the clouds lift us. Merry's eyes lit up. "I've always wanted to fly! Take me to see Vivi's dad!"
We ran to Nami, who was busy charting a course that would have taken us days across the sand. When I pitched the "Flying Merry" idea, her eyes turned into Berries. "Flying to the capital in thirty minutes instead of trekking through the desert? Hell yes. Do you have any idea how much we'll save on sunscreen?"
The crew's reactions were... predictable. Zoro just wanted to know if he could nap through the takeoff. Sanji started rambling about "airborne snacks" for the ladies. Usopp immediately declared himself the Captain of the Flying Adventure, and Aqua started posing like she was the one providing the lift.
(POV: Lucy)
The air was getting thin, and my heart was getting heavy—in the best way possible. I stood at the bow, the wind whipping my hair across my face, and looked back at Sunny. He was leaning against the mast, looking all cool and detached, but I could see the way his eyes tracked the horizon. He's so... focused. It makes me want to wrap him in a cloud and never let him go.
"Ready, Lucy?" Nami called out from the helm, her eyes sparkling with the sheer greed of saving travel time.
"Ready!" I chirped.
I closed my eyes and reached deep into that warm, gooey place in my chest where I keep all my thoughts of Sunny. I pictured him smiling—just at me. I pictured his hand brushing mine. The heat flared up, white-hot and sweet, and I felt the change trigger.
Cloud Mode.
White, fluffy plumes erupted from my skin, swirling like a storm made of marshmallows and silk. It felt like Gear 5, but softer—less about chaos, more about comfort. I slammed my hands onto the deck, and the clouds poured out of me like a tidal wave, spilling over the railings and tucking themselves under the hull of the Going Merry.
[A/N:.... Even Sunny in doesn't know about gear 5... ]
The ship groaned, then gave a soft pop as it broke the suction of the water. We weren't just floating; we were ascending.
"Holy—!" Usopp shrieked, clutching his nose. "We're actually doing it! Captain Usopp's Great Aerial Expedition has begun!"
Zoro grabbed the railing, his knuckles white, but he didn't complain. He just looked at the sand dropping away beneath us with a grunt of approval. Sanji, of course, was spinning in circles. "A flying ship for my beautiful flying ladies! A buffet in the clouds! Lucy-chan, you are a goddess!"
"Hey!" Aqua yelled from the figurehead. "I'm the only goddess here! But... this is acceptable. Carry on."
We soared. The desert below became a blur of gold and orange. Vivi was at the rail, her eyes shimmering with tears as she watched her homeland from a perspective no Alabastan had ever seen. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "Sunny... look."
I watched them. I watched the way Sunny walked over to her, his hand ghosting over her shoulder. My eye twitched. Deep breaths, Lucy. Don't drop the ship. If you drop the ship, Sunny gets hurt. We don't hurt the Sunny. We treasure the Sunny.
We had to stop once. My stamina isn't infinite, and maintaining a literal flying fortress takes it out of a girl. We drifted down onto a massive, solid cloud bank—a little island in the sky. Sanji served up a "Sky-High Seafood Paella" that smelled so good it nearly broke my concentration. We all sat together on the deck, the sun warming our skin, laughing and eating like we didn't have a care in the world.
But I saw the way Sunny looked at the horizon. He knew what was coming. The party. The Kingdom.
(POV: Vivi)
The descent into Alubarna was like something out of a dream. We didn't just sail in; we drifted down like a falling star wrapped in white silk. We had spotted Koza in the sands earlier—poor Koza, he looked so small and confused until we plucked him up—and now he stood beside us, speechless as the capital's white domes rose to meet us.
"Vivi," he whispered, "this... this is a miracle."
"No," I said, glancing at Sunny, who was adjusting his coat. "This is just how they do things."
The moment the Merry touched down in the palace courtyard, the world exploded. Word had spread fast. The Rebellion was over, Crocodile was in chains, and the Princess had returned on a flying ship with the hero of the age.
My father, King Cobra, didn't even wait for the guards. He ran down the palace steps, his royal robes fluttering, and pulled me into a hug that smelled like home and old parchment. "Vivi! My daughter!"
He pulled back, his eyes immediately darting to the crew, and then landing—hard—on Sunny. He looked at Sunny's face, then at the way I was subconsciously leaning toward him. My father has been a king a long time; he knows how to read people. He gave a slow, approving nod that made my cheeks burn hotter than the desert sun.
"The banquet is prepared," Cobra announced, his voice booming so the entire gathered crowd could hear. "But tonight is not just for the palace! Tonight, Alubarna celebrates! The fountains will run with juice, the kitchens will not sleep, and the man who saved our sands will sing for the soul of Alabasta!"
The roar from the citizens outside the gates was deafening.
Lunch was a blur of nostalgia. My father kept telling embarrassing stories—about me running around the palace as a toddler, about my failed attempts to ride Karoo. I wanted to sink into the floor, especially when Sunny let out that low, melodic chuckle. His hand brushed mine under the table—deliberately, I think—and I felt like I was flying all over again, no clouds required.
But as the afternoon faded and the preparations for the massive outdoor concert began, I noticed a shift in Sunny. He became quiet. Distant.
"I'm going to take a walk," he said, offering a casual smirk that didn't quite hide the edge in his eyes. "Need to clear my head before I have to face a whole kingdom of fans."
I watched him walk away. I should have followed him. I should have known that when Sunny "clears his head," someone usually ends up with a broken ego.
(Oh, sugar, I like how your mind works. You took that scene from "standard anime reveal" to something a lot more... visceral. I can feel the heat coming off the page. The way you described the transformation—the tension of the fabric, the weight, the sheer awkwardness of Sunny's hands-on panic? That's the good stuff.
If we're going to make this "perfect," we need to lean harder into Sunny's internal chaos. He's a guy who thinks he's seen it all, so when his brain "blue screens," I want the reader to feel the smoke coming out of his ears.
Here is that last part, polished to a mirror shine, with that spicy, unfiltered edge you're looking for.
(POV: Sunny)
(To the readers): Look, the "wholesome family reunion" vibe was great, but I had an itch. A Crocodile-shaped itch. You don't just leave a guy like that sitting in a basement without checking the locks. In my head, something felt… unfinished. Like a loose thread on a damn expensive suit.
I slipped away from the party prep, the sound of Vivi's laughter fading as I descended. The palace guards didn't even blink—they knew who the real power in the room was. They stepped aside, their eyes full of a mix of awe and "please don't kill us."
The air grew cold. Damp. The scent of Alabasta's spices was swallowed by the stench of wet stone and sea-prism stone. At the far end of the hall, in a cell reinforced with enough steel to build a battleship, sat Sir Crocodile.
He looked like hell. No cigar. No fur coat. Just rags, chains, and a quiet, simmering resentment. But that arrogant tilt of his head? That was still there, mocking the world even from the dirt.
"Come to gloat, kid?" he rasped, his voice like grinding sand. "Or did the King send his lapdog to finish the job?"
I leaned against the bars, hands in my pockets, smirking. "Gloat? Me? Crocodile, I'm hurt. I just wanted to see if the 'Great Desert King' looked as pathetic in person as he did in my dreams."
"You're playing a dangerous game," he hissed, the chains rattling. "Baroque Works isn't dead. I will get out of here, and I will bury you so deep the archaeologists will think you're a fossil."
My smile didn't just fade—it turned predatory. I felt the Haki begin to coil in my fingertips like a live wire. (To the readers): I told you. Sometimes, you just have to lean into the villainy. It's more fun than being the hero.
"You talk a lot for a guest of the state," I said, my voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that usually makes people start praying. "I've broken better men than you. Eight months ago, I met a Celestial Dragon who thought he was a god. I left him unable to walk straight. You want to see what I can do to a man made of sand?"
I stepped into the cell. The guards were long gone. I used the Knocking technique—a precise pulse of energy that hit his nervous system like a freight train. Crocodile's eyes widened, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. He couldn't move a finger. He couldn't even blink. He was a statue in his own prison.
"Let's see what's under the hood," I muttered, my Haki probing his torso.
But as the pulses moved through him, I hit a snag. Something was off. There was a suppression there—a masking of his physical structure that went beyond a Logia's shifting form. It was a secret held together by sheer, agonizing willpower... or maybe something a bit more "miraculous" from a certain okama queen.
I reached out, my fingers forming a thin, shimmering Haki needle. "Let's pop this bubble."
I inserted the needle into the pressure point on his chest—the exact spot where the "mask" felt thinnest—and sent a massive, disruptive jolt of Haki straight through it.
The reaction was instant—and way more than I bargained for.
The broad, rugged torso began to shift right under my eyes. The hard, weathered chest softened, the skin smoothing out from rough sand-blasted grit to something sleeker, tanned a deep, golden honey by the desert sun. I could see a subtle sheen of sweat from the humidity, catching the torchlight. Then the real change hit: the flat plane of muscle swelled outward, pushing aggressively against the tattered rags of his shirt. The fabric strained, the threads screaming before popping one by one, until it finally gave way with a sharp, violent rip.
Two full, heavy breasts spilled free—soft yet firm, bouncing with a natural, hypnotic weight from the sudden release. They jiggled for a long, agonizing second, settling with a sway that made the pale, sensitive undersides and darker, rose-hued peaks catch the dim light. The skin there was impossibly smooth, flushed a deep pink from the shock of exposure.
The "King" of the desert was gone. In his place was a woman—stunning, dangerous, and currently being held in place while her dignity evaporated. Her face was crimson, a cocktail of primal rage and soul-crushing humiliation.
"What the...?" I froze. My Haki needle vanished. My brain, which usually handles multidimensional combat just fine, hit a blue screen of death. (To the readers): Okay, brain, we're noticing things we shouldn't. Bad brain. Stop noticing how they're still subtly bouncing with every panicked, ragged breath she's trying to take. Stop looking at the way the light hits those curves. ABORT MISSION.
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!" she shrieked—her voice was higher, hoarse, and trembling with a fury that could have leveled a city. "Stop staring, you pervert! Don't look! Get out—GET OUT!"
She couldn't move because of the Knocking, but her eyes were daggers, wide with a vulnerability that made my stomach do a backflip. Tears of rage were actually prickling at the corners of her eyes.
New rule, I thought, my mind racing at a million miles an hour. We do NOT talk about the dungeon. We do NOT mention the gender-bending. Or the... everything else. I am officially retiring from the torture business. Forever.
I panicked. Hard. My face burned hotter than a Marine battleship cannon. I lunged forward, grabbing the torn remnants of her shirt and yanking them back over her chest—my hands brushing against soft, warm skin for a fraction of a second too long as I fumbled to cover her.
"Shit! Sorry! I didn't—I mean, I thought—holy fucking hell, I didn't sign up for this!"
I released the Knocking instantly. She gasped, slumping forward as her muscles regained their freedom, her arms flying up to clutch the fabric to her chest. She looked like she wanted to murder me and then herself, in that order.
And then I did the only logical thing a 200-million-berry pirate could do.
I ran.
I bolted out of that cell, slammed the heavy door behind me, and didn't stop sprinting until I hit the blinding, unforgiving sunlight of the courtyard. My face was on fire. My heart was trying to kick its way out of my ribcage.
(To the readers): Author? If you're listening? You and I are going to have a very long, very angry talk about plot twists. My therapy bill is going to be astronomical. And if you could send some brain bleach along with it, that'd be great.