The counter of Roast A Lotte gleamed under the warm light of the hanging lanterns, its polished surface reflecting the amber glow of half-empty glasses and the scattered crumbs of pastries. The smell of caramelized sugar hung thick in the air, mingling with the sharper notes of almond liqueur and the faint salt of the harbor that drifted through the open windows. Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and somewhere in the distance, a ship's bell rang.
Eliane Anđel sat on a wooden stool, her silver ponytail swinging as she kicked her feet against the crossbar. Her large blue eyes sparkled with the particular brightness that came from sugar and good company, and a smudge of cream from her Amaretto Cream Soda clung to the corner of her mouth. She took a long sip through the striped straw, then set the glass down with a satisfied sigh.
Sanza Kaplan Figarland sat beside her, his red hair messy and his expression caught somewhere between boredom and competitive fire. His cargo shorts were dusted with powdered sugar, and his armored Gundam-style graphic T-shirt was untucked on one side. He held his glass with both hands, the condensation dripping onto his fingers, and his piercing eyes tracked the conversation with the intensity of a general assessing a battlefield.
Jelly "Giggles" Squish wobbled on the stool next to Sanza, his translucent blue body compressed into a shape that barely resembled sitting. His starry eyes were wide, and his permanent toothy grin was stretched across his face as he slurped his Amaretto Cream Soda through a straw that kept poking out of his gelatinous cheek. He burped, and a small puff of glitter floated from his mouth.
"Bloop! So yummy!"
Ciel Nguyen sat at the end of the counter, his sandals hooked over the rung of his stool, his Rocco Sterling T-shirt stained with something that might have been caramel or might have been mud. His large dark brown eyes were fixed on Charlotte Amaretto as she moved behind the counter, her hands never still, her auburn hair escaping its messy bun in curling strands.
Charlotte wiped the counter with a damp cloth, her burgundy apron embroidered with the Roast A Lotte logo—a smiling almond with crossed stirring spoons. Her warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she listened to the children talk, but there was something behind her smile, something tight and watchful. The silver locket at her neck—a gift from Kaburo, containing a pressed flower from their first walk together—caught the light as she moved.
Ciel's voice rose with excitement, his words tumbling out in a rush.
"Kaburo Gusaki could take all of them on and beat them all! Because he is super strong, and he is a pirate!"
Sanza's head snapped toward Ciel. His jaw tightened. His Gallagher eyebrows drew down in that scowl that made him look like a tiny, angry general.
"My big bro and sis are better than anyone!" His voice carried that affected aristocracy drawl, stretched thin with indignation. "They could beat them with a single swing!"
The sailors at the nearby tables shifted. Their eyes slid toward the children, their conversations faltering. A man with a scar across his jaw set down his drink and leaned closer. Another sailor, younger, with a nervous twitch in his left eye, nudged his companion and pointed.
Charlotte's smile tightened. Her hand moved to the counter, fingers tapping against the wood.
Ciel turned to her, his dark eyes bright with desperation. "Tell him! Tell him how strong Kaburo Gusaki is! He is from Wano—that is where all the best samurai come from!"
Charlotte opened her mouth to respond, to deflect, to change the subject to something safer—anything safer—
The door to the back room swung open, and Vie Briehanoi stepped through, a large bottle of club soda in one hand and a smaller bottle of Amaretto tucked under her arm. Her cream-colored apron was tied over her simple blouse, and her dark hair was pulled back with a ribbon that matched the soft pink of her cheeks. Her charm bracelet caught the light as she walked behind the counter, setting the bottles down with a soft clink.
Eliane watched her pass, her blue eyes tracking the movement. Her head tilted. Her brow furrowed.
Then she pointed.
"We know her. She is on our crew."
Vie paused. Her hand hovered over the bottle of club soda. She followed the line of Eliane's finger and looked down at her shirt—at the small embroidered flower on the collar, the tiny charm on her shoelaces, the nametag pinned to her apron that read "Vie" in gold thread.
Her face went blank.
Then her eyes widened.
Vesta's concert. Tosu Island. The broadcast. The rainbow-haired singer who had taken the world by storm.
Vie beamed. She set down the bottles with a clatter that sent a splash of club soda across the counter and rushed to the counter's edge, her hands gripping the wood, her brown eyes shining.
"Oh my gosh! I love her!" Her voice rose to a pitch that made the sailors look up from their drinks. "What is she like?"
Sanza waved a dismissive hand. "She is very scatterbrained."
Eliane's head snapped toward him, her silver ponytail swinging. Her blue eyes flashed.
"She is not! She is super nice and loves singing!"
Charlotte placed a glass down on the counter, the motion slow and deliberate. Her warm brown eyes fixed on Eliane.
"Is she with you?"
Eliane nodded, her expression guileless. "Well, yeah. Everyone is here." She looked around the room, then shrugged. "Somewhere on the island. We got separated is all."
Ciel put his head on a bent elbow, his dark hair flopping across his forehead. His voice carried the particular whine of a bored eight-year-old.
"This is boring."
He perked up, his head snapping upright, his eyes bright.
"I know! We should go see Kaburo Gusaki! Then you can see how awesome he is!"
Charlotte's hand froze on the glass. Her warm brown eyes flickered toward the ceiling, toward the apartment above, toward the men and women hiding in the shadows.
She opened her mouth to respond—
The door swung open.
The bell above the frame chimed, a cheerful sound that cut through the murmur of conversation like a blade through silk.
Rear Admiral Zento Radias stepped through first, his magenta feather boa draped across his shoulders, his sky-blue silk lining flashing beneath his Justice coat. His shaved head gleamed, and his vibrant green eyes sparkled with theatrical energy. He flicked his boa over his shoulder with a flourish, the feathers swaying dramatically.
Behind him, Rear Admiral Petra Ven slipped through the door like a shadow given form. Her oversized olive-green sweater hung loose on her frame, her heavy-lidded dark eyes sweeping the room with the patience of someone who had learned to see without being seen. Her mismatched earrings swung as she turned her head, cataloging exits, cover points, potential threats.
Zento's voice carried across the room, warm and melodic, the voice of a performer addressing an eager audience.
"We are seizing this establishment." He paused, letting the words settle. "We have it on good authority that this establishment has been harboring known criminals formerly associated with the Beast Pirates."
The sailors froze. Their hands hovered over their drinks. Their eyes darted toward the door, toward the windows, toward each other.
Zento continued, his voice still warm, still melodic, but carrying an edge that had not been there before.
"All those associated with this establishment—Roast A Lotte—are under arrest and will be detained for questioning." He spread his arms wide, a gesture of welcome that felt like a threat. "So for those of you who do not work here, you have five seconds to get out."
The customers exchanged looks.
Zento began to count.
"One."
A sailor stood, his chair scraping against the floor.
"Two."
Another sailor pushed back from his table, his drink forgotten.
"Three."
The woman near the window gathered her shawl and hurried toward the door.
"Four."
Panic.
Chairs scraped. Glasses clinked. Boots pounded against the wooden floor. The customers rushed toward the exit, a river of bodies flowing through the narrow door, their voices rising in a chorus of fear and confusion.
Zento watched them go, his smile never wavering.
Petra moved through the chaos like a ghost, her feet silent on the floor, her dark eyes fixed on Charlotte Amaretto. She closed the gap, stopping at the counter, her gaze never leaving Charlotte's face.
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"Tell us where they are. Or we will be forced to search the premises."
Charlotte stood tall. Her hand rested on the counter, her fingers pressed against the wood. Her warm brown eyes held Petra's, and her jaw tightened.
She swallowed hard.
Eliane, Sanza, Jelly, and Ciel sat on their stools, completely confused, their glasses of Amaretto Cream Soda half-empty, their pastries forgotten.
Vie glanced at the door, at the children still sitting at the counter, at the Marines watching from the entrance. She moved to Eliane's side, her voice low and urgent.
"Come on, kids..."
Zento's eyes locked onto Eliane.
"Hold on a minute."
He closed the gap, his tall frame towering over the small girl, his magenta feather boa brushing against the counter. His vibrant green eyes fixed on her face, reading her expression, her posture, her too-silver hair.
"You..."
---
The apartment above Roast A Lotte was too small for five people.
Amaru Valentine stood at the window, his long, flowing black hair cascading past his shoulders, his sun-kissed brown skin glowing. He wore a bright floral shirt—hibiscus patterns in shades of orange and pink—open at the top to reveal his muscular chest. His faded cargo shorts were frayed at the knees, and his leather-strapped sandals were silent on the wooden floor. With every slight sway of his long neck, the golden rings ignited into brilliant glints, their polished surfaces casting a warm glow across the dark lines of his tribal tattoos.
He pulled the curtain aside, just a crack, and peered down at the street.
Marines surrounded the shop. Their white uniforms stood out against the grey stone, their rifles gleaming, their faces set in grim determination. Patrons rushed past them, scattering into the alleys and side streets, their voices rising in confusion.
Amaru's voice was low, honeyed, carrying that lazy, relaxed cadence that never seemed to change, even in crisis.
"Captain. I think we have a problem."
Umeko Ozias reached the window in a blur of plum-colored hair and upward-curving horns. His tattered dark coat hung open, revealing a sleeveless tunic and boots built for hard travel. Around his throat, the bone necklace—his grim signature—swung with the momentum of his sudden halt.He looked out the window and cursed.
"Looks like they found us."
Kaburo Gusaki stood near the door, his dark gray, sleeveless kimono top hanging loose on his scarred frame, his long dark hair pulled back in a low, economical ponytail. The scar across his face—from above his right temple to his left cheek—a lasting mark from a padt he would never forget. His jaw flexed. His eyes fixed on the door, and his hand tightened on Kalamaru's hilt.
He wanted to rush down. She was down there. Charlotte Amaretto was down there.
Akako Zinnia clapped her hands together, her vibrant red ponytails bouncing, her frilly black bows fluttering. Her baby-doll dress in red and white was wrinkled from too many days in hiding, and her black and white striped leggings were stained at the knees. Her mismatched eyes—one bright, one wild—sparkled with excitement.
"Oh goody! We finally get to do something!"
Ozul Crow stood in the corner, his iridescent black skin shimmering, his long dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders. His flowing white top and dark teal pants were rumpled, but his posture was calm, centered, the posture of a man who had learned to find stillness in chaos.
His voice drifted across the room, soft and measured, like a prayer recited in an empty temple.
"When the red spear of Mars pierces the morning's quiet cusp, the wheel of fate demands a hand upon the spoke rather than a prayer to the silent sky."
Amaru's brow furrowed. "What?"
Kaburo's voice came from the door, low and flat. "It means it's time to move."
Umeko nodded. His hand closed on Twin Thunder, his medieval-style battle mace with its two large, pointed metal spikes. The dark, wooden handle was warm in his grip.
"All of you, get ready."
Amaru asked, "What's the play?"
Umeko gestured toward the window with a jerk of his chin. "Out the window we go."
Amaru smirked, his gold rings gleaming. "I like it."
Footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Heavy boots on wooden steps. Voices shouting orders. The rattle of equipment.
Amaru pushed the window open. The frame groaned in protest, and the cool afternoon air rushed into the room, carrying the smell of the harbor and the distant sweetness of almonds.
He hopped onto the sill, his long neck swaying, his floral shirt flapping in the breeze. He looked over his shoulder at the others, his dark eyes bright with anticipation.
Then he dropped through the window, his body twisting in mid-air, his hands reaching for Left Kiss and Right Kiss.
His guns blazed.
The first shot caught a Marine in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second shattered a crate near the door, sending splinters flying. The third, the fourth, the fifth—a barrage of Haki-coated bullets that lit the afternoon with flashes of gold and fire.
Amaru landed on the cobblestones, his sandals slapping against the stone, and he kept moving, his body flowing from one position to the next, his guns never stopping.
Behind him, the others followed.
Kaburo went next, silent as a shadow, his waraji sandals mute on the sill. He dropped to the street without a sound, Kalamaru already in his hand, the cursed blade humming with dark energy.
Umeko followed, his massive frame crashing onto the cobblestones, Twin Thunder raised, his dark eyes scanning the street for targets.
Akako jumped, her baby-doll dress billowing, her oversized mallet—Heartbreaker—swung over her shoulder. She landed in a crouch, her red ponytails bouncing, her grin wide and wild.
Ozul descended last, his movements slow and deliberate, his hand resting on Aetherius's hilt. His iridescent skin shimmered, and his gold-flecked eyes swept the street with the calm detachment of a man reading the stars.
The Marines shouted. Rifles raised. Boots pounded against the stone.
The battle for Roast A Lotte began.
And somewhere inside, Charlotte Amaretto stood behind the counter, her hand pressed against the wood, her warm brown eyes fixed on the door that led to the stairs, listening to the thunder of footsteps and the crack of gunfire, praying that the man she loved would make it out alive.
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