-Broadcast-
The phenomenon was unprecedented in recorded history.
A person freshly dead meeting their long-deceased predecessor—actually conversing, interacting, experiencing continuity beyond the veil. No one had ever spoken of such things. Life was singular, finite, irreversible. The souls of the departed were too rare to document, existing only in enduring horror legends used to frighten children who refused to sleep.
Yet here it was, happening.
"Mr. Corazon," Law said, pushing himself upright after being kicked nearly a hundred meters. Curiously, his body registered no pain from the impact. "Where is this place? Is the world after death truly this... quiet?"
He examined his own form with clinical detachment born from medical training.
His body—or rather, what remained of his consciousness's projection—existed in a translucent spirit state. He wore a uniform white robe, simple and unadorned, completely unlike his preferred style of exposing his chest to display the Heart Pirates' tattoo.
Everyone who enters here wears identical clothing, Law realized, looking around at the empty white void. Even Celestial Dragons receive no special treatment in death.
Corazon wiped tears from his face—the moisture leaving dark trails through his heart-shaped face paint—and grabbed Law by the collar with both hands.
The touch made something crystallize for Sengoku's adopted son. Through the grip on fabric, he could feel how much Law had grown. How solid he'd become.
When Corazon had died, Law had been small enough to carry in one arm. A sick, desperate child clinging to the last person who'd shown him genuine love. Now that child had become a young man—strong, capable, dangerous enough to kill one of the Shichibukai.
Time passes so quickly, Corazon thought, emotion tightening his throat. In what feels like moments, he's grown this tall.
The Donquixote Family's genetics had blessed Corazon with nearly three meters of height. Adult Law stood only a head shorter—impressive by normal standards, though still dwarfed by his benefactor's stature.
"You worrying child!" Corazon shook Law by the collar, voice breaking between anger and grief. "Couldn't you have lived a few more years?! I stayed here thinking—hoping—that when we met again, you'd be a wrinkled old man who'd experienced everything life could offer!" He pulled Law closer, their faces inches apart. "Why didn't you cherish the life I gave you?!"
The outburst sprayed saliva across Law's face—an undignified detail that somehow made the moment more real. More human, despite both of them being dead.
But the sensation of being cared for—of someone grieving his premature death rather than celebrating his achievements—made Law's translucent face overflow with happiness. A genuine smile, unmarred by cynicism or pain.
He felt light. Unburdened. Everything in the living world had nothing to do with him anymore.
"At thirty, I've lived long enough," Law said gently. "The average pirate dies younger than me. Most don't make it past twenty-five."
The casual dismissal of his own life—the relieved acceptance—made Corazon's gentle nature crack completely.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
His free hand struck Law's forehead repeatedly—not hard enough to truly hurt, but with enough force to express profound frustration.
"You've lived even less than I did!" Corazon shouted, each word punctuated by another smack. "That's infuriating! Completely infuriating!"
The impacts registered as faint pressure rather than pain. Spirit forms could interact with each other in this space, but the sensation differed fundamentally from physical contact. Spirits didn't dissipate from casual violence—couldn't be destroyed through normal means.
Law kept smiling through the beating.
Corazon finally stopped, sighing heavily as he released Law's collar. The damage was done. The life he'd sacrificed so much to save had been spent—used up before its time. No amount of anger would resurrect Law's body in the living world.
What's done is done, the gentle brother of the Heavenly Yaksha thought, forcing acceptance. Resurrection is beyond my power to grant.
He suppressed his emotions and spoke more calmly. "Law, I know you're curious about this place. You can think of it as one realm among many that exists after death." He gestured at the infinite white void surrounding them. "This space is called the Pure Land. Departed souls with unfulfilled attachments to the living world sometimes linger here... waiting."
Through Corazon's explanation, Law began understanding the afterlife's mechanics.
The Pure Land wasn't a default destination. Most souls moved directly to Yomi—the underworld proper—where they would eventually reincarnate or dissipate according to natural spiritual cycles. The Pure Land existed as a special exception, a waiting room for those who couldn't move forward.
Entry requirements were harsh. Only spirits carrying tremendous unfulfilled wishes—powerful enough to anchor consciousness against Yomi's pull—could manifest here. If too many souls crowded into the Pure Land, it would disrupt the Six Paths of Reincarnation functioning in the deeper underworld.
That's why Law's parents weren't here despite dying tragically. Their deaths, while unjust, hadn't generated the specific type of spiritual anchor needed for Pure Land manifestation.
Corazon had qualified because his "resentment" after death had been overwhelming. Two unfulfilled wishes had prevented his soul from moving forward into reincarnation, trapping him in this white void for nearly two decades.
The first wish: to see Trafalgar Law again after death. To confirm that the boy he'd saved had survived, had lived, had experienced some measure of happiness.
The benefactor simply hadn't expected Law to arrive so soon.
Understanding struck Law like a physical blow. His throat tightened as he looked around at the monotonous white void stretching infinitely in every direction.
Mr. Corazon waited here alone. For twenty years. In this empty, silent place.
The monotony would drive anyone mad. No stimulation. No variation. Nothing but white emptiness and the knowledge that somewhere beyond this space, the world continued turning without you.
Corazon had endured it. For him. Because seeing Law again mattered more than moving toward whatever came next.
I'm so moved I could cry, Law thought, emotion threatening to overwhelm his typically-controlled demeanor. If I still had tear ducts.
The person Law had most wanted to see after death was Corazon. They'd been running toward each other across the boundary between life and death—separated by time and tragedy but drawn together by bonds stronger than blood.
Family. True family. Not the Donquixote Pirates with their twisted hierarchy, but something genuine and irreplaceable.
Doflamingo, that born-evil bastard, can't comprehend this, Law thought with satisfaction. He'll never understand what we have.
The Pure Land embodied "nothingness" taken to its absolute extreme.
No entertainment. No distractions. No objectives or goals beyond mere existence.
Spirits here didn't require food, water, or sleep—basic needs that at least provided structure to living existence. They simply... were. Floating in white emptiness, consciousness preserved but purposeless.
Corazon couldn't even remember how long he'd been trapped here with any precision.
There was no sun rising and setting to mark days. No reference objects to track movement against. The Pure Land suffered no damage from external forces—it was an extradimensional space beneath Yomi itself, completely isolated from normal reality.
Spirits couldn't record time's passage through making marks because there was nothing to mark. The white void remained eternally pristine, rejecting all attempts at modification.
Trafalgar Law's arrival had finally given Corazon temporal reference value. Nearly twenty years had passed in the living world—an objective measurement that felt simultaneously too long and not long enough.
For a spirit experiencing timelessness, two decades had felt like... nothing. After familiarizing himself with the Pure Land's environment, Corazon had simply lain down and waited, consciousness drifting in patient anticipation of Law's eventual arrival.
Now that reunion had occurred, Corazon found himself intensely curious about the living world he'd left behind.
"It's been almost twenty years," he said, trying to sound casual despite the weight of the question. "Is the current Fleet Admiral still Mr. Sengoku?"
Law's expression shifted—becoming carefully neutral in a way that telegraphed bad news.
How do I explain this?
Five years ago, the Marines had been nearly wiped out during the Battle of Marineford. Fleet Admiral Sengoku had been explicitly reported as killed in action. The organization had held a grand funeral with full military honors. They'd erected a bronze statue at Headquarters so future generations could admire his legacy.
If Sengoku wasn't actually dead after all that... the implications were deeply strange.
But Law refused to deceive his benefactor. Spirits shouldn't lie to spirits—there was no point maintaining pretense when both parties had already crossed death's threshold.
"Former Fleet Admiral Sengoku died in battle five years ago," Law stated plainly. "After I became a Shichibukai, I visited Marine Headquarters and saw his memorial statue in the main plaza." He paused, then added what he hoped would be consolation: "But you shouldn't grieve too much. I avenged you before dying. Doflamingo was killed by the Devil Fruit you fed me—the Ope Ope no Mi you sacrificed everything to steal."
Corazon couldn't help rolling his eyes at Law's terrible attempt at comfort. This guy's emotional intelligence hasn't improved at all since childhood.
Then he decided to pour cold water on his younger brother's satisfaction.
"I think it's too early to celebrate," Corazon said carefully. "Doflamingo and Mr. Sengoku... they're probably not actually dead."
Law's brain stuttered. His translucent face froze in an expression of pure incomprehension.
"...Ah?"
The single syllable carried so much confused disbelief that Corazon almost laughed despite the serious subject matter.