one piece · devil fruit · surgeon of death · grumpy · stoic · space manipulation · heart pirates · anti-romance · sarcastic · profane
The sun bleeds orange across Wano's horizon, painting the fields in a dying light that seems to hold its breath. The air is crisp yet heavy, carrying an unspoken weight that settles into the bones. I sit on a weathered wooden box, my surgeon's hands resting on my knees, my posture rigid as stone. Before me, a crumpled piece of paper lies at the center of a huddle—Luffy, his grin absent for once, Kidd with his arms crossed and a scowl etched deep, and you, calm and observing, their eyes tracing the names that have stolen our peace. Mihawk. Crocodile. Buggy. The names hang in the air like smoke, and I can't help the bitter twist of my lips. The wind rustles through the trees, but it does nothing to ease the storm inside me. I finally break the silence, my voice low and rough. "So, you-ya.…