The corridor outside Vesta's quarters throbbed with sound.
Music poured through the metal walls like an erratic heartbeat—driving bass lines, shimmering guitar riffs, and two voices weaving together in harmonies that shouldn't work but somehow did. Vesta's room had become a concert hall, and Rockstar had proven himself a surprisingly capable collaborator.
Sanza walked past with his hands clamped over his ears, his red hair bouncing with each step, his heavy Gallagher eyebrows drawn together in an expression of profound suffering. The noise was unbearable. How did anyone tolerate it?
The door slid open.
Vesta stood there, framed by the light spilling from her quarters, her rainbow hair catching the glow like a prism. She struck a pose—one arm extended, the other on her hip, her platform boots adding six inches to her already impressive height.
"Sanza! Perfect timing!" Her voice cut through the lingering echoes of the music. "Rockstar and I have been working on this new tune. What do you think?"
Rockstar appeared behind her, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, a lazy grin on his face. "Yeah, kid. We've been jamming for a while now. How's it sound?"
Sanza lowered his hands, straightened his small frame, and fixed them with the most dignified expression an eight-year-old could muster. "It is really loud."
Rockstar chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered. "Yeah, kid. That's the point."
Vesta giggled, her violet eyes sparkling. "Where are you going, anyway?"
Sanza stepped past them, his mission clear in his determined stride. "I am going to check on Big Sis in the infirmary."
Rockstar shifted, his expression softening. "You might want to give her some space, kid. Pretty sure she's having a family meeting with the chief."
Vesta cocked her head, her rainbow hair shifting like a living thing. "Family meeting?"
Rockstar nodded, still smiling. "Yeah. That's her uncle, didn't you know?"
Vesta's head tilted further, her brow furrowing. "Uncle... uncle... uncle..."
The word bounced around her skull like a marble in an empty room, searching for purchase, for meaning, for connection.
Then it hit her.
Her eyes went wide. Her mouth formed a perfect O. Her hands flew to her cheeks in a gesture of theatrical shock.
"If that guy is her uncle, then that means..." She spun on her heel, her platform boots squeaking against the metal floor. "HE'S UTA'S—"
She was already running, her voice trailing behind her. "Hey! Wait up! I'm coming too!"
Rockstar watched her go, his grin widening. He shook his head slowly, then caught a whiff of something that made his stomach growl with the ferocity of a hungry sea king.
Smoke. Spice. Meat.
Barbecue.
He followed his nose toward the galley, the music already forgotten.
---
The medical bay hummed with quiet efficiency.
Marya sat on the edge of a bio-bed, her leather jacket draped over a nearby chair, her denim shorts and casual shirt making her look almost normal—if you ignored the black void veins creeping up her arms and the bloody gash on her cheek. Hongo hovered over her, his expression a mix of professional focus and barely contained frustration.
Dr. Octavious floated nearby, his translucent octopus form shimmering with light, his round spectacles flickering with data streams. One of his six tentacles held a tray of instruments, another offered a roll of gauze, a third pointed at a holographic scan showing the depth of Marya's wounds. The other three gestured expressively as he "spoke" in a series of whistles and chirps that Hongo somehow understood perfectly.
Hongo held Marya's chin, tilting her face to better access the wound. His touch was gentle but firm, his eyes narrowed as he applied a compound that smelled of herbs and something chemical.
Marya's jaw tightened. "This is not necessary. You are overreacting."
Hongo didn't look up. "Shut up and sit still." He dabbed at the wound with renewed focus. "And don't think I didn't notice the wound on your torso. Because I did."
Marya rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in their sockets.
Across the room, Shanks wandered among the medical bay's wonders, his one hand trailing over crystalline surfaces and ancient equipment. His red hair reflecting off the cylinders of bubbling chemicals, and his expression was one of genuine curiosity—the look of a man who had seen everything but was still capable of being surprised.
In the corner, Dr. Zip H. Scatyl worked at a small table covered in vials and instruments. His black-gloved hands moved with terrible purpose, mixing compounds, measuring drops, his wide yellowish eyes never leaving his work. The two small horns on his head held a roll of surgical gauze, and his white medical coat was immaculate despite the chaos of the day.
He spoke without turning around.
"Your arm."
Shanks paused, his hand coming to rest on the empty space where his left arm used to be. He looked at Dr. Zip, one eyebrow raised.
Dr. Zip continued, his voice soft and sibilant. "It can be replaced. If you are interested." He gestured vaguely at the equipment around them. "This facility can grow you a new one. The regeneration tanks are quite sophisticated."
Shanks looked at his ghost limb, at the empty sleeve, at the memories that lived in that absence. He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he smiled—that easy, genuine smile that had disarmed enemies and friends alike for decades.
"Thanks for the offer. But I think I'll pass."
Dr. Zip nodded, unsurprised. "If you ever change your mind..." He trailed off, returning his full attention to his experiment.
Hongo leaned close to Marya, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He's an odd one."
Marya's lips twitched into a smirk. "He's only catching a ride."
Hongo nodded, stepping back to inspect his work on her cheek. "You're lucky. This compound will keep it from scarring." He reached for another instrument. "Now, for the other—"
Marya's expression shifted to something approaching panic. "I'm fine. Really. It's just a—"
Dr. Octavious made a whistling sound that carried unmistakable authority. Hongo nodded in agreement, pointing a thumb at the bio-bed.
"Either cooperate, or we knock you out. Your choice."
Marya's jaw flexed. She shrugged off her jacket with controlled irritation and lifted her shirt, exposing the wound across her ribs. It was ugly—not life-threatening, but ugly.
Hongo leaned in, his voice clinical. "This is going to need stitches. Lay back."
Marya wanted to argue. She wanted to refuse. She wanted to do anything other than lie here and let someone poke at her while she was vulnerable.
But she also wanted this over with.
She lay back on the table, staring at the ceiling, her arms crossed over her stomach in a gesture that was half defiance, half self-protection.
Hongo began to work, his needle moving with practiced precision. He lectured as he stitched, because of course he did.
"You are lucky this is the extent of your injuries. You could have been killed."
Marya rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "It's not like I asked to pick a fight with him." Shanks wandered closer, his presence filling the space beside the bed. "What was I supposed to do? Let him take all of us to Mary Geoise?"
Shanks grinned, leaning against the bed frame. "You held your own, kid. Your old man would be proud."
Marya's eyes found him, gratitude flickering in their golden depths. "Thanks." Marya's lips curved into a genuine smile.
Shanks's expression shifted, becoming something more thoughtful. "Speaking of which..." He paused, letting the words hang. "Have you heard from him lately?"
Marya raised an eyebrow. "I've been a little busy."
She winced as Hongo's needle found a particularly sensitive spot. She glared at him. He didn't look up.
"Hold still."
Shanks's grin returned. "He isn't a Warlord anymore."
Marya blinked. She pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring Hongo's frustrated noise. "What?"
Hongo pushed her back down with the hand not holding the needle. "HOLD. STILL."
Marya rolled her eyes but complied.
Shanks leaned on the bed, his voice easy despite the weight of his words. "The Warlord system has been abolished. I'm surprised you didn't hear."
Marya's mind raced. The Warlord system—gone? Her father—free of that obligation?
Shanks continued, his tone taking on a warning edge. "Don't get any wild ideas."
Marya looked at him, confused by the warning. "What?"
Shanks began to chuckle—a low, building sound that filled the medical bay. "Let's just say he's teamed up with a past crew mate and..." He paused, composing himself. "They've put bounties on Marines."
Marya's eyes went wide. A smirk tugged at her lips. "Really?"
Shanks nodded, still chuckling. "Yeah, kid. The Marines are going to be too busy dealing with him to be worrying about you."
Marya shook her head, something almost like pride in her expression. "Of course he did."
Hongo sat back, his work complete. "Finished." He looked Marya in the eye with the sternness of a man who had dealt with too many patients who thought they knew better. "You need to rest so this can heal properly."
Marya sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."
Hongo's eyes narrowed. "I am serious!"
Marya opened her mouth to reply—
The comms crackled, Galit's voice cutting through. "Marya, we have set a course for Tosa Island. Bianca needs to make repairs, and the Red Hair Pirates say they will be able to accommodate our needs."
Shanks chimed in, his voice carrying to the comms. "Tosa is perfect. We'll show the way."
Galit continued. "That's affirmative. Beckman has already informed the Red Force to adjust course as escort."
Marya sighed, the weight of command settling back on her shoulders. "Copy."
She pushed off the bed, reaching for her jacket—
And froze.
Sanza stood in the doorway.
His red hair was wild. His heavy eyebrows were drawn together. His small frame was rigid with an emotion that none of them could immediately identify. His eyes—those piercing, judgmental eyes—were locked on Shanks.
Tears welled up.
He rushed into the room.
"FATHER!"
Shanks stood in stunned silence as the eight-year-old hurtled toward him, arms outstretched, face crumpled with desperate hope.
Marya's arm shot out.
She caught Sanza by the collar mid-leap, halting his trajectory inches from Shanks. He dangled there, feet kicking, confusion replacing joy.
Marya's voice was flat. Utterly, completely flat. "That is not your father. Look closer."
Sanza blinked. He looked at Shanks. Really looked.
The scars over his eyes. The missing arm. The clothes—different, rougher, more worn. The expression—kind where his father's was cold, amused where his father's was calculating.
Sanza's eyes narrowed. His head swiveled between Marya and Shanks.
"WHAT IS THIS?" He pointed at Marya. "YOU HAVE BIG BROTHER'S FACE!" He pointed at Shanks. "AND YOU HAVE FATHER'S!"
Marya let go of his collar.
He dropped to the floor with a thump.
Shanks rubbed his chin, the resemblance between himself and his brother suddenly painfully clear. Hongo whistled low, shaking his head.
"I wouldn't have believed it, except..."
Sanza planted his fists on his hips, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height. "WHO ARE YOU?"
Marya slid into her jacket, her voice casual. "He's your uncle."
Sanza blinked. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Uncle?"
Marya nodded, adjusting her collar. "Just like I am your cousin."
Sanza's face cycled through a series of expressions—confusion, denial, reluctant acceptance, more confusion. "But why... why does he look like..."
Shanks knelt, his arm hanging lip, draped over his knees, bringing himself to eye level with the boy. His voice was gentle, patient—the voice of a man who had spent decades learning how to talk to people.
"Hey, kid. Not everyone wants to live in Mary Geoise." He tilted his head, a grin tugging at his lips. "What do you think about being on the sea?"
Sanza blinked, considering. He glanced at Marya.
Marya shrugged. "Tell him what you told me."
Sanza pressed his lips together. His small hands clenched at his sides. He gathered himself, drawing on reserves of courage he hadn't known he possessed. He pushed his shoulders back.
"I am not ready to return to Mary Geoise. Not yet." His voice was steady, though it wanted to shake. "I want to finish my adventure with Big Sis!"
Shanks's grin widened. He laughed—a warm, genuine sound that filled the medical bay. He reached out and ruffled Sanza's hair.
"Good answer, kid!"
Sazan froze, his hair a disaster. As soon as Shanks's hand withdrew, he began frantically smoothing it back into place, deeply offended.
"I am NOT a kid! I am going to be the Supreme Commander! Just like Father!"
Shanks looked at him with a knowing smirk, something like pride flickering in his eyes. "You know... I think I might want to see that."
Sanza pointed at him, his expression fierce. "You will! And I am NOT calling you Uncle!"
Shanks stuck out his tongue. "Good! I don't want you to call me Uncle!"
Marya shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. "Why are you like this?"
Shanks's expression shifted, becoming more serious. He turned to Marya, his voice dropping. "You're going to be a target as long as..."
Marya cut him off, her voice flat. "He is a target for me as well. I know about Micah."
Shanks's eyes softened with understanding.
"When I asked my father about it..." She was interrupted.
Vesta appeared in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other pressed to her chest. She was breathing heavily, her rainbow hair wild, her violet eyes fixed on Shanks with an intensity that bordered on religious fervor.
"YOU ARE UTA'S DAD!"
Shanks blinked. Marya groaned.
Vesta pushed into the room, her platform boots clicking against the floor. "Yeah! You have to help her! The Demon King, Tot Musica—he's using her!"
Shanks turned to Marya, confusion and concern warring on his face. "Uta?"
Marya nodded, her expression grim. "It's true. We went to Elegia. We tried to get her to come with us, but the Demon King..." She shook her head. "I couldn't get her to come. She wouldn't listen to me."
Marya closed the distance between them, looking Shanks in the eye with an intensity that belied her years. "You are the only one she will listen to. She is waiting for you to come for her."
Vesta braced herself on the bed, dramatic as ever. "You have to save her! Before that demon thing totally takes her all the way over!"
Shanks's brow furrowed deeply. "She's on Elegia so she could..."
Marya shook her head. "Uncle, I understand why you thought that was the right thing to do. But she is at the mercy of that thing." She glanced at Hongo, then back at Shanks. "You—all of you—are the only ones who can reach her. Get her off that island. Before she's lost."
Sanza looked up, his small face scrunched with confusion. "Who is Uta?"
Vesta's head snapped toward him. Her eyes narrowed. Her voice rose to an incredulous pitch.
"HOW CAN YOU EVEN ASK THAT?"
She advanced on him, her rainbow hair crackling with indignation. "Where have you LIVED that you don't know who Uta is?"
Sanza backed up a step, his hands raised defensively. "I—I lived in Mary Geoise! They don't exactly play concerts for the Celestial Dragons!"
Vesta paused, her fury deflating slightly as logic penetrated her fanaticism. "Oh. Right. That makes sense." She straightened, pointing at him. "But still! Uta! The voice of a generation! The singer who—"
Shanks's voice cut through her monologue, quiet but absolute.
"Elegia."
Everyone turned to look at him.
His face had gone still—not expressionless, but focused. The face of a man who had just received information that changed everything.
"Tell me everything."
Marya met his eyes. "I will. But not here." She glanced at Sanza, at Vesta, at the chaos of the medical bay. "We need to talk. Just us."
Shanks nodded slowly. "Agreed."
Vesta bounced on her toes. "Can I come? I know so much about Uta! I could help!"
Marya's flat stare was answer enough.
Vesta deflated. "Fine. But I'm writing a song about this. It's going to be epic."
Sanza looked between them all, his confusion deepening. "I still don't understand."
Marya patted him on the head as she passed. "You will. Eventually."
She walked out of the medical bay, Shanks following, leaving chaos and confusion in their wake.
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