EggheadIsland — Six Months Later
Sea Circle Calendar Year 1521
Egghead hummed with light.
The whole island felt alive.
Towering glass tubes pulsed with neon blue; steel walkways thrummed beneath magnetic lifts; Pacifista frames clanked as they marched in synchronized rows under fluorescent beams.
But in the center of all that brilliance—
Laughter filled the lab.
Bonney's laughter.
Her cheeks were rosy again. Her eyes bright, curious, unclouded by pain.
She sat perched on Kuma's shoulder, tiny legs swinging as she pointed excitedly at a floating metal sphere drifting by.
"Daddy, look! It's dancing!"
Kuma's massive hand lifted to steady her.
"She's just following her magnetic cycle," Vegapunk called over his scribbling, chalk racing across a transparent board that stretched floor to ceiling. "But yes—let's call it dancing."
Kizaru lounged on a nearby bench, sunglasses half-lowered, sipping tea with a lazy grin.
"Oooh, Bonney-chan is looking healthy, ne. So bright… just like a little star. How frightening~"
Sentomaru stomped past, a half-eaten rice cracker in hand.
"Uncle Kuma! Uncle Kuma! Look! I'm teaching the robot how to stand straight!"
A Pacifista prototype mimicked him stiffly—legs splayed, chest puffed out like a confused crab.
Bonney giggled so hard she nearly fell backward, and Kuma caught her gently with one massive palm.
For a moment—
For a fragile, impossibly perfect moment—
It felt like they were all a family.
A strange one.
A mechanical one.
But a family nonetheless.
And Kuma had not felt that warmth in years.
Time slipped like sand through fingers.
Bonney's appetite returned.
Her strength returned.
The Sapphire Scales receded month by month under Vegapunk's relentless experimentation.
And then—
One quiet morning, after a long series of tests and careful observations, Vegapunk finally stepped back from his machinery.
"Her levels are stable," he announced, pushing his round glasses up. "Her organs are functioning normally. The disease has retreated for now."
Kuma exhaled a trembling breath.
Vegapunk crouched to Bonney's height, smiling warmly.
"Little one," he murmured, "you can go home now. But you come back to see me every few months, yes?"
Bonney nodded so vigorously she nearly toppled over.
Kuma lifted her carefully.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Vegapunk only shook his head.
"Don't thank me. Thank your daughter. She fought more bravely than most grown men."
Kuma swallowed hard.
That night, while Bonney slept curled atop his lap, Kuma watched her in silence for hours.
Her small chest rose gently.
Her tiny fingers curled over his sleeve.
She breathed without pain.
For the first time in years… Kuma prayed. Not to gods—nothing so lofty.
He prayed to the world itself.
Thanking it.
———————
Days later, he boarded a small air transport bound for the Sorbet Kingdom, Bonney asleep against his chest.
She stirred as they descended.
"Daddy? We're home?"
"Almost," Kuma murmured, kissing her forehead. "Almost, my little light."
When they landed in the courtyard of the old church—
Ginny was waiting.
Her hair unkempt, apron stained, eyes red from worry.
She had barely slept since Bonney left.
The moment she saw Kuma step off the ramp—Bonney awake and smiling—
Ginny froze.
Her breath hitched.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
And she ran.
"Bonney—! My baby—!!"
Kuma knelt so Ginny could reach her.
Bonney laughed as Ginny swept her up, hugging her so tightly she squeaked.
Ginny sobbed openly, shaking, pressing her forehead to Bonney's.
"Kumachi, you saved her—"
Her voice cracked into a desperate, grateful whisper.
"You saved our girl…"
Kuma bowed his head deeply.
His voice was low.
Soft.
Almost breaking.
"It was a promise."
Ginny's tears dripped onto his hands.
"You kept it… You actually… kept it…"
"I would give my life for her," Kuma said quietly. "I always will."
Bonney hugged them both, tiny arms barely reaching.
"Kumachi," Ginny whispered, voice trembling with gratitude so deep it hurt, "thank you… thank you…"
Kuma inhaled slowly.
The air smelled like home.
Bonney's home.
Ginny's home.
His home.
His Family.
————————
Baltigo
The wind on Baltigo always carried dust.
Fine, pale dust, whispering across crumbling stone and chalk-white cliffs. To some it felt desolate.
To Kuma… it felt like resolve.
He stepped off the small transport vessel, boots scraping against the rough ground. The landing site sat beneath a massive stone arch—one of Baltigo's natural formations that jutted up like the ribs of some ancient titan.
Dragon stood waiting under its shadow.
Arms crossed. Cloak whipping softly in the wind.
Expression unreadable as always—yet sharper than usual, as if measuring Kuma not with suspicion… but with understanding.
Kuma approached and bowed his head.
"Dragon I've returned."
Dragon's eyes traced him, lingering on the hints of exhaustion Kuma carried like unseen weights. Then, with a rare flicker of warmth behind his stoic gaze.
"You did good my friend."
Kuma exhaled, a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Bonney is safe," he said softly. "Ginny is with her now."
"Good."
Dragon turned away, cloak snapping in the wind. "We move out soon."
Kuma blinked and asked. "…To where?"
"East Blue."
Kuma froze mid-step.
"East Blue? But that sea is quiet—there are no major factions, no World Government fortifications. Why there?"
Dragon kept walking toward the inner camp, boots crunching over pale stone.
"We've received reports," he said flatly. "Some of the small kingdoms along the Conomi and Goa routes have been destabilized. Trade interruptions. Corrupt governors. Some famine outbreaks."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Minor issues. But enough that certain nobles are using them to increase World Government presence in the region. We need to assess the truth before it spreads."
Kuma listened carefully.
It was a reasonable explanation.
A perfectly reasonable one.
And yet—it didn't fit Dragon.
These weren't the kind of operations Dragon personally oversaw.
He usually sent commanders, scouts, or entire divisions for such things.
Not himself.
Not Kuma.
"Are these kingdoms truly important enough to warrant our direct intervention?" Kuma asked carefully.
Dragon didn't stop walking.
But his answer came a half-second too late.
"Of course."
Kuma's brows furrowed.
Something was off.
Subtle—like a loose thread in an otherwise immaculate cloak.
But Dragon wasn't a man easily questioned.
They passed through the camp. Revolutionaries saluted, murmuring about Kuma's return, Bonney's survival, rumors of Vegapunk, whispers of war.
Dragon kept moving, heading toward a row of supply crates.
"We leave within the week," he said. "Have your gear ready."
Kuma nodded slowly.
"Understood."
They walked a few more steps in silence.
But the tension hovering around Dragon was unmistakable—tight shoulders, clipped tone, eyes not quite focused on the present.
Kuma tried once more, gentler.
"Dragon… these kingdoms we're visiting. What exactly do you expect to find there?"
Dragon tightened his jaw.
His cloak shifted in the breeze, casting half his face in shadow.
"Information."
Kuma waited.
Dragon did not elaborate.
Finally, the revolutionary leader ended the conversation with a tone that brooked no further questioning.
"That is all you need to know."
Kuma bowed his head in respect.
But inside, a quiet question formed.
If they were truly only visiting scattered East Blue kingdoms…
Why did Dragon look like a man preparing to face a ghost?
————————-
East Blue — Weeks Later
The Revolutionary Army ship cut quietly across the gentle azure waters, sails catching only the softest winds. Gulls cried overhead, their shadows skating across the deck like fleeting ghosts.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Kuma stood beside a crate, arms folded, watching Dragon as the man remained at the prow. The usually stoic leader stood rigid, coat fluttering, eyes locked on the distant horizon.
Not just watching the sea.
Watching a destination.
A single island growing larger in the distance—green, small, sleepy. One of a thousand nameless dots scattered across the East Blue.
And yet…
Dragon looked at it like it was the center of the world.
Kuma frowned, studying him.
Dragon was always calm.
Always calculating.
Always unmoved.
But the man standing at the bow now…
His eyes held something else entirely.
Not the cold resolve of a revolutionary.
But something warmer.
Something heavy.
Something almost fearful.
It unsettled Kuma more than any battlefield ever could.
He finally approached, footsteps heavy on the wooden deck.
"You've… been staring at that island for a while," Kuma rumbled.
Dragon didn't turn.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even acknowledge him.
Kuma's brows tightened.
Something was definitely wrong.
The ship moored in a quiet cove. No villages. No ports. Just dense green forest and birdsong.
Dragon disembarked first, boots sinking lightly into the soft sand.
Kuma followed, and even without looking directly at him, he could feel the tension radiating off Dragon's shoulders.
Not battle-tension.
Not mission-tension.
Something far more personal.
Dragon inhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the treeline.
"I'll… take a look around the eastern ridge," he said, voice low and unusually hesitant.
Kuma blinked. "Shouldn't we check it together?"
"No."
Dragon shook his head a little too quickly.
"You go inland. The forest paths. I'll meet you back here."
Kuma frowned slightly. "That's unlike you."
Dragon's jaw tightened.
He still refused to meet Kuma's eyes.
"It's better this way," Dragon said quietly.
"I just… need a moment alone."
Kuma studied him for a long second.
Not as a subordinate.
As a friend.
A friend who clearly needed space for reasons he wasn't ready to share.
Finally, Kuma placed a gentle hand on Dragon's shoulder.
"All right," he rumbled.
"I won't pry."
Dragon exhaled—relief, guilt, something in between—then nodded once.
"Thank you."
Kuma stepped back, giving him the distance he silently asked for.
"I'll check the interior," Kuma said softly.
A pause.
Then Dragon whispered. "…Be careful."
Kuma offered a small smile. "You too, my friend."
And with that, they separated—
not by orders,
but by the heavy, unspoken weight Dragon carried alone.
He stepped off the ship and into the forest.
———————-
Inside the Forest
A young man, lean but wiry with budding muscle, stood at the cliffside clearing, the late afternoon sun burning gold behind him.
His black hair was still wild.
His grin was still reckless.
But his aura—his will—was far from childish now.
Monkey D. Luffy was sixteen.
A single year away from setting sail.
And today—
He was fighting a mountain.
More specifically, a massive slab of stone twice his height, wedged into the ground like a monument.
Luffy cracked his knuckles, cheeks puffed with determination.
"Alright… let's try it again!"
He hopped backward on the balls of his feet, stretching his arms behind him until they rubberized into long, dark silhouettes.
The rubber creaked.
Air thrummed.
Then—
"GOMU GOMU NO… AXE!!!"
His leg shot upward—
far higher than human—
and came crashing down with terrifying force.
BOOOOOOM—!!
The giant rock fractured first.
Then crumbled.
Then exploded outward in a cloud of dust and flying shards.
Birds fled from the trees.
The earth shook beneath Kuma's feet in the shadows where he watched.
Luffy landed in a crouch, grinning triumphantly.
!Shishishishi! Did ya see THAT?!" he laughed to no one.
"With this… I'll catch up to Ace for sure!"
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, panting hard but smiling like breaking a boulder was nothing more than a warm-up.
Kuma felt something twist in his chest.
That joy.
That determination.
That fire that only grew hotter the more he was tested.
A fire Kuma had seen before.
In Ada.
In Dragon.
Luffy suddenly froze.
His eyes sharpened.
He turned toward the treeline—toward Kuma.
"…Oi."
Luffy squinted, pupils narrowing in suspicion.
"Who's there?"
Kuma didn't breathe.
Luffy stepped forward, fists lifting.
Despite his youth, the air around him bristled with challenge.
"I can tell you're there! Come out!"
For a brief second, Kuma almost did.
Almost.
But then—
he stepped back into deeper shadow.
"…"
Luffy blinked.
Then frowned.
"Must'a been a wild animal…"
He scratched his head, shrugged, and walked off, hands behind his head, humming.
Kuma waited until the boy was gone before turning away from the cliff.
He inhaled once.
Slow.
Shaken.
Then he returned to the shore.
———————
Kuma returned to the beach where Dragon still stood, facing the island like a penitent statue.
Dragon didn't look up as Kuma approached.
"You always come here," Kuma began softly.
"Every year. Without fail."
Dragon's shoulders stiffened.
But he didn't reply.
Kuma continued, voice lower, more careful.
"I found someone."
Dragon's breath hitched—
He didn't turn, but that slight motion was more revealing than a shout.
"A boy," Kuma said. "Training alone in the jungle."
Silence.
Dead, choking silence.
Then—
"Stop."
Dragon's voice was calm.
Too calm.
Kuma blinked.
"…What?"
Dragon turned his head slightly, just enough for Kuma to see his eyes—sharp, guarded, but trembling underneath.
"Do not speak of him," Dragon said quietly.
"You'll kill me if you keep talking."
Kuma froze.
Why?
Why such fear?
"Dragon," Kuma said slowly, "why can't anyone know about him?"
Dragon closed his eyes.
And for the first time Kuma had ever seen—
The man looked tired.
Truly tired.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a breath. "Because a child… is a parent's greatest weakness."
Kuma felt the weight of those words strike like a hammer.
Dragon—who challenged the World Government itself—
Dragon—who walked into storms without blinking—
Dragon—who feared nothing—
was afraid for that boy.
A revelation blossomed inside Kuma like thunder.
"…You have a son."
Dragon didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The truth wrapped itself around them like fog.
Kuma's heart thudded painfully.
He drew a breath.
"…Who is his mother?"
A long, stretching silence followed.
The waves crashed gently against the shore.
Leaves rustled somewhere behind them.
Dragon finally turned fully toward Kuma.
His expression was unreadable—but behind his eyes burned a storm of guilt, longing, sacrifice, and something that looked almost like pain.
"You know her," he whispered.
"Quite well."
Kuma's eyes widened.
Dragon continued, voice carrying years of memories. "She saved your life at God Valley."
"And later… helped Ginny recover."
Kuma's chest tightened.
Only one person fit that description.
A woman who strode through battlefields like a tempest.
A woman who fought Celestial Dragons and smiled while doing it.
The emperor who carried storms under her skin.
The friend who had saved Ginny's life…
and Kuma's.
A woman who had saved so many—
Including him.
Kuma's lips parted in disbelief.
He barely managed to whisper.
"…Ada."
Dragon didn't nod.
But the slight movement in his eyes was enough.
Kuma staggered back a step.
Ada.
She had a son.
Her son was—
The boy in the jungle.
The boy punching trees with reckless fury.
The boy with a fire that could scar the world.
The boy wearing a straw hat.
Kuma swallowed hard.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"…That boy," he said, trembling,
"he's your son."
A beat.
Then, more quietly—almost disbelieving.
"With Ada."
The name hung in the air like a stormcloud.
For a moment, Dragon said nothing.
Only the wind moved—stirring his cloak, carrying the smell of the sea between them.
At last, Dragon exhaled.
"…Yes."
The admission was soft.
Raw.
More human than Kuma had ever heard him.
Kuma stared at his friend—the most dangerous revolutionary in the world—and for the first time saw fear there.
Not fear of death.
Not fear of the World Government.
Fear for a child.
Fear of losing him.
Kuma's voice shook.
"Dragon… why didn't you ever tell me?"
Dragon's eyes remained on the island.
On the quiet jungle where a boy with a straw hat was still training.
"Because knowing… puts you in danger."
Kuma opened his mouth to protest, but Dragon cut him off with a weary shake of his head.
"You're already risking your life every day for the Revolution. For Ginny. For Bonney. I can't add him to the weight you carry."
Kuma clenched his fist. "That boy is not a burden."
"I know," Dragon said quietly.
"That's the problem."
Kuma stared toward the island.
Toward the boy training alone.
Toward the child born of two of the most dangerous people in the world.
A boy whose will was already burning bright.
A boy fated for something far beyond that quiet jungle.
Kuma then murmured. "He's strong… already."
Dragon's jaw tightened.
"He has her fire," he said.
"And my… recklessness."
For the first time, a faint smile pulled at Dragon's lips—sad, proud, and terrified all at once.
Kuma took a slow breath. "Dragon… what will you do? When the world finds out about him?"
Dragon's smile died.
His eyes hardened into the steel Kuma knew so well.
"That," Dragon said, voice low and dangerous. "is why no one must know. Not the Marines. Not the Revolution. Not even his crew when he sets sail."
He turned toward the island again where faint smoke drifted above the treeline—a sign that the boy was still training, still pushing himself with reckless determination.
"I'll protect him from the shadows," Dragon whispered.
A lonely resolve bled through his words.
"But if the world learns who he is…"
His jaw tightened.
"…then he must be strong enough to face it himself."
Kuma felt his chest tighten.
Dragon continued, quieter now—like the wind was carrying the truth out of him.
"I cannot shelter him forever. If I do, he'll never survive what's coming. He has to grow without leaning on us."
He paused, lowering his voice to a near-whisper.
"But if he's ever truly in danger… if the world corners him…"
A storm flickered in Dragon's eyes.
"…he knows—whether he realizes it or not—that both Ada and I are still out there."
Not as shields.
Not as crutches.
But as the final line between him and annihilation.
Dragon turned back to the sea, cloak stirring in the breeze.
"He cannot be known," he said quietly.
"If his bloodline is exposed, the world will destroy him before he even sets sail."
Kuma bowed his head.
"I understand."
The admission sounded too small against the weight of the moment.
Dragon's voice softened, almost swallowed by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
"He must grow hidden. Safe. Free. Far from us… but never unprotected."
Kuma nodded slowly.
"I understand."
But inside—
He trembled.
Because he realized something terrifying.
That boy…
that small, stubborn, laughing boy…
might one day grow strong enough
to shake the entire world.