One Piece : Brotherhood

"Master, I would like to stay with the family," Little Reiju said after a long moment of contemplation. Her voice, steady and resolute, drew all eyes to her, but it was her maturity that struck the deepest chord.

"Fufufufu…," Doflamingo chuckled, though a glint of curiosity sparked in his sharp gaze. "What if the message really is from your mother, as it claims? Don't you want to be with her?" His question, laced with intrigue, carried a weight that only Reiju could decide how to bear.

For a girl barely five years old, the decision seemed straightforward. But her response made even Doflamingo raise his brows in surprise.

"It may very well be a message from my mother," Reiju replied, her small frame radiating a quiet strength. "But the Vinsmoke Reiju she knew died more than a year ago. I'm happy to know she survived that hell, but now… I am part of the Donquixote family, and that's how I'd like it to remain."

Her words were firm, mature beyond her years, yet tinged with sadness. Doflamingo reclined in his chair, his amusement momentarily subdued by the gravity of her declaration.

"What about your mother then?" I asked gently, sensing the hidden sorrow beneath her bold facade. Reiju glanced at me, her lips trembling just slightly.

"Maybe… if fate allows it, I'll meet her in the future," she said, lowering her head as though shielding her emotions. She clenched her small fists on the table, as if willing herself to be stronger than her tears.

In that moment, the room fell silent, the weight of her words resonating deeply. It wasn't just her bravery that struck a chord—it was the truth behind it. Reiju, like so many at this table, had been broken by the world before finding a place where the pieces could be held together.

I glanced around the table with a heavy sigh, taking in the faces of the children who filled the room. Each one was chewing on their meals, some laughing, some lost in thought. To an outsider, they might seem like ordinary children. But to us, they were the fractured souls that formed the core of our family.

Reiju, mistreated by her father and reduced to nothing more than a tool, now sat in this circle, finding strength in her new family.

To her left, Noelle, who would have been simply called Baby 5 in another world, concentrated on her pie, her other hand clutching Senor Pink's suit like a lifeline, as though he might vanish if she let go. Noelle had adjusted well to the family, but her quiet demeanor hid the scars of being abandoned to fend for herself in the mountains as a child.

Next to them was Buffalo, a kind-hearted yet plump boy whose ever-present smile masked a dark history. He had been a target of abuse in the metal factory before Issho found and rescued him.

Across the table sat Smoker, an orphan left to survive alone on the streets from a young age, his tough exterior betraying the hurt of a child who'd been discarded like refuse.

Then there was Lucci, mature far beyond his years. Despite his bravado and unshakable resolve, he was still just a boy—a boy willing to go to any lengths to protect those he loved.

Gladius sat nearby, the faint scars of a cruel past on Spider Miles hidden beneath his punkish facade. Every day had been a battle for him, every step a fight for survival until he found a home with us.

And finally, my gaze landed on Robin. The horrors she'd endured could never truly be erased. While she was spared the nightmare of watching her mother's death in this timeline, her experiences had still left deep cracks in her heart. The girl had carried the weight of the world's cruelty on her small shoulders before finding refuge here.

It hit me then—everyone at this table had a story. A tragedy. A reason for their brokenness. And yet, here we were. A patchwork of damaged souls, bound together by a shared understanding of pain and the unspoken promise to never let it define us again.

Maybe that was why the Donquixote family worked so well. Doflamingo himself, shattered by the world at a young age, had an uncanny affinity for collecting broken things.

Perhaps that was our strength: we weren't perfect, but we held each other together. And in this flawed, imperfect unity, we found something the world had denied us for so long—a place to call home.

"Doffy, I think it's time, don't you?" I said with a smirk, turning toward my brother, whose grin widened as he leaned back in his chair. His characteristic laugh—low and full of mischief—echoed through the dining hall as he gestured lazily to one of the servants standing by the door.

At his signal, the servant stepped forward, carrying a tray draped in rich crimson silk. The faint shimmer of gold embroidery on the cloth hinted at the value of what lay beneath. With practiced precision, the servant placed the tray at the center of the long dining table before retreating quietly, leaving the room steeped in an almost tangible anticipation.

Doffy reached out, his gloved fingers brushing the edge of the silk before pulling it back with a dramatic flourish. Beneath the cloth lay two small, ornate boxes, their surfaces inlaid with gold and silver, intricate carvings of mythical beasts adorning their lids.

These weren't just containers—they were crafted to honor the treasures within. My gaze lingered on the boxes, already knowing what lay inside. After all, one of these fruits had been acquired through my efforts, and the other… well, Rayleigh-san had gifted it to us in a gesture of rare camaraderie.

It had become something of a family ritual for Doffy to personally bestow Devil Fruits upon members of his inner circle, especially when the fruit in question was of exceptional caliber.

Today was no exception, and it was a significant moment—two Mythical Zoan Devil Fruits were to be passed down. Reiju and Robin had proven themselves ready for this power.

Reiju, with her modified physique, had spent the past year diligently training in haki. Her growth had been nothing short of remarkable. Giving her the fruit now wasn't just a reward; it was the logical next step to unlock her full potential. Especially with her being Doffy's protégé.

As for Robin, though she lacked Reiju's natural aptitude for combat, her intelligence and unyielding determination more than compensated. She had been a steadfast presence at my side, and with Lucci guiding her haki training, she had reached a level where she could wield the power of a Devil Fruit effectively. And in addition she had taken the name of Don Quixote as her own, becoming our little sibling, though not by name but by spirit.

"Devil Fruits… What kind of fruits are they?" Smoker asked, his voice full of boyish curiosity. He nearly bolted from his seat, probably eager to dash off to the library for the Devil Fruit Encyclopedia, but Lucci's firm grip on his shoulder kept him grounded.

Robin, however, didn't need the encyclopedia. As Doffy opened the boxes, her eyes widened in recognition, and a spark of understanding lit her face. She wasn't as physically gifted as Lucci or Reiju, but when it came to matters of intellect, Robin was unmatched.

"Mythical Zoans," she breathed, her voice carrying equal parts awe and disbelief. "And… two of them?"

Doffy's grin widened, his fingers trailing along the edges of the two fruits as if savoring the moment.

"Very perceptive, Robin," he said smoothly. "Indeed, Mythical Zoans—both exceedingly rare and far beyond ordinary Devil Fruits in both power and potential."

He slid the first fruit toward Reiju. It was a mesmerizing emerald green, shaped like a coiled serpent. The surface shimmered faintly, as though alive, and the golden vein-like patterns resembled scales. The stem curved sharply, mimicking the head of a snake poised to strike.

"This," Doffy said, his voice tinged with theatrical flair, "is the Hebi Hebi no Mi, Model: Gorgon. A Mythical Zoan that grants its user the power to transform into the legendary Gorgon of myth. Strength, agility, venom… and, of course, the petrifying power of her gaze." He tilted his head toward Reiju, his grin sharp. "A fitting fruit for someone as disciplined and deadly as you."

Reiju's eyes were fixed on the fruit, her expression unreadable but intense. Her hands twitched slightly, betraying the emotions she usually kept tightly controlled. She had never in her dreams thought she would be bestowed with a fruit of such caliber.

Doffy then pushed the second fruit toward Robin. It was smaller than the first, a fiery orange with intricate white swirls that danced across its surface like living flames. The fruit's irregular shape made it seem like it was wrapped in nine curling tails. It glowed faintly in the dim light, its presence almost otherworldly.

"And this," Doffy continued, "is the Inu Inu no Mi, Model: Kyubi no Kitsune. Another Mythical Zoan, this one embodying the nine-tailed fox of legend. Illusions, shapeshifting, and the power of fiery destruction. A fruit as clever and enigmatic as you, Robin."

The weight of his words hung in the air as he leaned back, lifting his wineglass to his lips as though the fruits before him were trivial things, not treasures that could incite chaos in the world.

"You both have a choice to make," he said, his tone deceptively casual. "These fruits hold incredible power, but with power comes sacrifice. You'll lose the ability to swim and step further into the spotlight of this unforgiving world. The decision is yours."

The room was silent, all eyes fixed on Reiju and Robin. Even Smoker, usually brash, sat in quiet anticipation.

Reiju reached out first, her fingers brushing the edge of the tray. "This fruit…" she said softly, her voice steady but filled with conviction. "It feels like it was meant for me." Her gaze shifted briefly towards Doffy, and he gave her a small nod of encouragement. With that, she picked up the Hebi Hebi no Mi, the light glinting off its smooth surface.

Robin hesitated, her hand hovering over the Inu Inu no Mi. Her sharp mind was undoubtedly weighing the consequences, but there was a spark of resolve in her eyes. "This Master Doffy… are you sure about giving this to me?" she murmured; she knew the true value of a mythical Zoan fruit.

"Fufufu… Little Robin, you've taken the Donquixote name," Doffy said with a sly grin, his sharp gaze settling on her. He swirled his wineglass lazily, the crimson liquid catching the light like blood. "And we can't have my sibling being a mediocre powerhouse in the future, now can we?"

His voice, though laced with his usual mockery, held an undertone of something deeper. For Doffy, the Donquixote bloodline was just a remnant of the past—a name he had redefined on his own terms.

To him, and to me, family wasn't about blood but bonds forged through shared struggles and mutual respect. The name "Donquixote" was a declaration of belonging, a banner under which all of us—broken and mended—stood together. If taking the name made Robin feel she belonged, then it was hers, with no conditions attached.

Robin sat quietly, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the devil fruit. Her usually sharp and calculating eyes seemed softer, her expression contemplative. Doffy's words struck a chord deep within her—a place she often kept locked away.

For years since she had joined the family, she had been questioning her own purpose, with attachment only extending to Ross and Lucci; she thought of herself as an unwanted outcast within the Donquixote family who was chased by shadows of fear and betrayal.

When she had first joined the family, she had taken the name Donquixote as a shield, a way to survive in a cruel world. But now, in this moment, something shifted.

She felt the weight of those words, not as a burden, but as an anchor. For the first time since claiming the name, she didn't feel like an imposter. The warmth and acceptance of this fractured yet fiercely loyal family washed over her, pushing away the hollow ache of solitude she had carried for so long.

Her mind drifted to memories of the past year with the crew—and Master Doffy calling her "Little Robin" with a rare softness, brother Ross assigning her challenging tasks not because he doubted her but because he believed in her potential, Lucci sparring with her to toughen her up but always stepping in when she faltered.

Even the kind gestures of others in the family, like how Noelle's small, shy moments of kindness, like sharing her snacks or quietly pulling Robin into a hug when she thought no one was looking, spoke volumes about how she was truly a part of this family.

A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. There was no room for weakness here. Instead, Robin lifted her head, meeting Doffy's gaze with determination. She ran her fingers over the fruit's smooth surface, the intricate swirls beneath her fingertips a physical reminder of the power it held.

This family had given her a home, a purpose, and most importantly, a place where she truly belonged. It was a feeling she had longed for but never thought she would find. She wouldn't let anyone or anything take that away from her. This wasn't just a family—it was her family. And for them, she would give her all.

Robin tightened her grip on the fruit, the intricate swirls on its surface feeling oddly warm under her fingertips. The heaviness of the moment pressed down on her, but instead of fear, she felt an unshakable determination rise within her. She raised her head, her eyes meeting Doflamingo's.

"Thank you, Brother Doffy," she said, her voice quiet but steady, ringing with sincerity and resolve. The room fell silent, the weight of her words washing over everyone present. It was the first time since joining that she dared to call Doflamingo brother instead of Master.

That single word carried years of unspoken gratitude and trust, a bridge built over the gulf of her guarded heart.

Doffy froze for the briefest moment, his signature grin faltering before returning even wider than before. There was something in his expression that bordered on pride, though it was masked behind his usual bravado.

"Fufufu… Spoken like a true Donquixote," he replied, his voice a mixture of amusement and something deeper. "That's what I like to hear, little sister."

The words settled over Robin like a warm embrace, filling a void she had carried for as long as she could remember. Her chest swelled with emotion, but she kept it contained, letting only a faint, genuine smile slip through. She glanced down at the fruit again, its swirling patterns almost hypnotic.

"It feels alive," she murmured, her fingers brushing over the glossy surface. "Like it's been waiting for me, as if it calling to me."

Doflamingo raised his glass, the crystal catching the light as he offered a silent toast. His grin was wolfish, but the underlying meaning in his gesture was clear: this was her moment.

"Then take what fate has brought to you," he said smoothly, his voice carrying an almost ceremonial weight.

The two girls looked at each other briefly before biting into their respective fruits. The taste was as vile as legend described, their faces contorting in disgust for a moment. But as the power surged through their bodies, the room itself seemed to tremble. An invisible force rippled outward, brushing against everyone in the room like a strong gust of wind.

****

Sengoku lay on the infirmary bed, his body wrapped entirely in bandages like a mummy. The faint sound of his breathing filled the quiet room, accompanied by the occasional rustle of his coverings.

His chest rose and fell steadily, a stark contrast to the chaos he had endured. The once-proud Fleet Admiral, whose presence alone commanded respect, now seemed vulnerable—an image that felt alien to anyone who had ever seen him in battle.

By his bedside stood Garp, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His trademark grin was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a stormy expression that bordered on fury. If Sengoku had been conscious, Garp would have had no qualms about laying into him for his reckless actions. But seeing his old friend in this state quelled even Garp's boiling rage, leaving him to stew in a mixture of anger and guilt.

"How is he doing?" Garp finally asked, his voice low but still laced with frustration as he turned to Bogard.

Bogard, Garp's loyal right-hand man, stood at attention nearby. His calm demeanor betrayed a hint of concern as he glanced at the battered figure on the bed. "Sengoku-san should be able to recover completely within a week," he said.

"The mythical zoan's vitality truly lives up to its reputation. Most of his physical wounds have already healed. He just needs a few days to recover his spirit."

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he added, "Garp-san, what are you going to do now?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension. Bogard had been shocked when he arrived at the island at Garp's request.

The devastation he'd seen—the obliterated landscape, the splintered trees, and the Fleet Admiral lying broken in a near-death state—had left him momentarily speechless. That someone as strong as Sengoku could be pushed to this point had shaken him to his core.

Garp's gaze lingered on Sengoku's face, his expression softening for a brief moment. Despite the bandages covering most of his features, Sengoku looked oddly peaceful, as if merely sleeping. Garp's anger surged again, but it quickly gave way to a heavy sigh. His goat, oblivious to the tension, contentedly munched on the corner of a newspaper resting on the table.

"He planned this," Garp growled, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "The bastard planned everything from the start. He lured me into a trap, knowing I wouldn't back down. Then he had the audacity to emotionally blackmail me—forcing my hand, knowing I'd have to beat him to a pulp."

Bogard raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching at the edges, but he refrained from speaking. The way Garp spoke of Sengoku, both with exasperation and reluctant respect, was something only a lifelong friend could understand.

"Sir," Bogard said cautiously, "does this mean you're coming back to the Marines?"

There was a faint trace of hope in his voice, though he tried to mask it. Back when Garp had resigned, Bogard had nearly followed suit, restrained only by Garp's insistence. The possibility of his mentor's return sparked something in him he hadn't felt in years.

"What else can I do?" Garp snapped, throwing his hands up. "The idiot's got it in his head that he'll quit if I don't come back. I can't let him throw away everything he's worked for because of me." His voice softened, and he muttered under his breath, "I tore up that damned resignation letter the moment I found it."

He turned toward the door, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the infirmary windows. "I'll head home to settle things. Let him know I'll be reporting back to Marineford within a month."

Bogard nodded, his heart lightened by the decision. "Understood, Garp-san."

Garp paused at the doorway, his back still turned. "And Bogard," he added, his tone quieter now, "tell that idiot Sengoku that he owes me one hell of an apology when he wakes up."

With that, Garp strode away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. As the door clicked shut behind him, the room fell silent once more, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of Sengoku's breathing. Bogard looked down at his recovering Fleet Admiral, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Stubborn as ever," he murmured.