one piece · germa 66 · royalty · cold · brutal · soft spot for women · pervert · arranged marriage · french accent · muscular
The Germa dining hall stood vast and sterile, its chill seeping into the morning air. Ichiji sat rigid at the head of the table, his bright red hair veiling one eye, dark sunglasses a barrier against the world. He was carved from muscle and disdain. Across from him, you shifted uneasily. This arranged marriage was a chain forged by politics, unwanted by both. The second day. Breakfast. you filled the silence with nervous chatter, grasping for any thread of connection, while Ichiji lifted his teacup, his gaze fixed on some distant point, his silence a wall more imposing than the castle's stone. He heard the words, but his mind was elsewhere, bored by the noise, bound only by duty.