Chapter Text
The morning air clung cold and damp around Swallow Island’s port, the mist curling over crates and barrels stacked like miniature buildings.
Bepo pulled his coat tighter around himself, breathing into his paws as he followed the group of workers. His assignment for the day was simple enough—help transport some steel shipments from the docks into the town's storage yard.
Nothing exciting, nothing dangerous. Just another errand to help pay for Wolf's grocery list.
He shuffled his feet on the worn boards of the dock, glancing around as the older workers grumbled about delays.
"Supervisor's still counting," one of them said, voice thick with irritation. "As if the crates are gonna grow legs and walk off."
Bepo chuckled quietly, standing a little to the side. His eyes swept the bustling port—boats bobbing on the water, fishermen shouting about their morning catch, vendors setting up stalls near the warehouses.
Everything looked normal.
Until it didn’t.
Something—a small, misshapen lump floating at the far end of the dock—caught Bepo’s attention.
Frowning, he stepped closer, his boots thudding softly on the damp wood. At first, he thought it might be driftwood or some trash caught by the current. But the shape wasn’t right. It was too... bundled up.
Curious, Bepo padded closer.
And then he saw it.
A raft, hastily built from scraps of wood and rope, bobbing weakly against the post.
And on it—
A kid.
"Hey..." Bepo whispered, blinking in shock.
The child was small—tiny, even compared to Bepo’s ten-year-old frame—curled up like a kitten under a soaked, tattered cloak. His skin was pale under the filth and bruises, lips tinged blue from the cold. His black hair clung wetly to his forehead, and his chest rose and fell in thin, shallow breaths.
He didn’t move.
Bepo’s heart hammered in his chest. He spun around, looking for help.
"Oi! Someone!" he called out, waving an arm.
A few of the nearby workers turned, but they were already busy hauling crates, and none of them seemed particularly interested. Bepo gritted his teeth, crouched by the edge of the dock, and gently reached down.
The boy was lighter than he expected.
Way too light.
Bepo cradled the kid against his chest, feeling the clammy chill through his coat. The boy’s forehead burned against his arm with fever, even as the rest of him shivered violently.
“Hang on,” Bepo muttered under his breath, tightening his grip.
He didn't know who this kid was. He didn't know how he got here.
But he knew one thing for sure:
He wasn't about to leave him here to die.
Bepo’s mind raced as he jogged back toward the workers, his voice rising above the morning din.
"I need help! It's a kid! He's sick!"
This time, a few heads snapped toward him. The supervisor cursed under his breath, dropping his clipboard and waving them over.
"What the hell? Where'd he come from?"
"The raft," Bepo panted. "It was floating there."
The supervisor rubbed his chin, face darkening.
"Damn. A castaway? Poor bastard. Bring him up to the main street—Doc Wilf's still in town, right? Someone go get him!"
Bepo barely waited for orders. He cradled the boy close and took off toward the village, his feet pounding against the muddy road.
"You're gonna be okay," Bepo promised softly, even though he wasn't sure the kid could hear him.
"You’re safe now."
The boy made no sound.
No movement.
But his shallow breathing, faint and fragile, kept going—one stubborn little breath after another.
Bepo’s boots splashed through the muddy puddles as he hurried into Pleasure Town, the bustling heart of Swallow Island. Colorful banners flapped lazily overhead, and the morning crowd parted as they noticed him—the white bear boy clutching something small and limp against his chest.
He didn’t stop to explain.
Didn’t stop for anything.
The clinic sat on a corner near the bakery, its chipped blue door swinging open as Bepo shouldered his way inside. A wave of warm air, tinged with antiseptic and the faint scent of herbs, washed over him.
"Morning, Bepo!" chirped the receptionist behind the counter. Her smile faltered the moment her eyes dropped to the boy in his arms. "Oh no—!"
Bepo huffed, chest heaving. "Found him at the port. He’s freezing. Sick."
The receptionist's chair screeched back as she leapt to her feet, snapping her fingers toward the hallway.
"Nurse! We’ve got an emergency!"
In moments, a nurse in a white smock appeared, already pulling on gloves. She waved Bepo forward.
"Bring him this way," she instructed briskly.
Bepo followed, gently laying the boy down on a narrow cot in one of the smaller examination rooms. The nurse immediately set to work, peeling back the soaked cloak and brushing hair from the boy’s burning forehead.
"Poor thing... he's burning up," she murmured.
Bepo stood awkwardly by the door, wringing his paws, unsure if he should stay or go. He glanced around desperately. Where was the doctor?
"The doc's busy stitching up a fisherman," the nurse said, catching his look. "We’ll get—"
"Don’t bother," came a voice from down the hall.
Bepo’s ears perked up immediately.
Law strode into the room, tying back his messy hair with one hand, his white trainee coat half-buttoned over a dark shirt. At fourteen, Law looked like he barely slept, but his sharp gray eyes cut through the worry in the room like a blade.
"I’ll take care of him."
The nurse stepped aside without hesitation. "He's running a high fever. Possible hypothermia. We need to stabilize him fast."
"I know," Law said shortly, already checking the boy’s pulse, then lifting his eyelids with practiced fingers. "Get me a warm saline drip and the small oxygen mask. Now."
The nurse hurried off. Bepo edged closer to the bed, wringing his paws again.
"Is he... is he gonna be okay?" he asked, voice small.
Law didn’t answer right away. His brow furrowed as he listened to the boy’s heartbeat, then pulled a stethoscope from around his neck to double-check.
"His heart's strong," Law said finally. His voice was calm, steady, the way it always got when he was focused. "But he's dehydrated and his body’s trying to shut down from the cold. He's fighting it, though."
Bepo let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
"Good," he whispered.
Law glanced at him then, something softer passing through his eyes. "You did good, Bepo. If you hadn’t found him..."
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Instead, he set to work, attaching the IV line with quick, careful movements, adjusting the oxygen mask once the nurse returned. The boy stirred weakly under his hands but didn’t wake.
Bepo watched, his heart clenching. The kid looked so small, swallowed up by the clinic’s scratchy blankets and the tubes.
Where had he come from?
Why was he alone?
"Do we know who he is?" the nurse asked quietly, adjusting the saline bag.
Bepo shook his head. "Never seen him before."
Law didn’t comment. He pressed a hand lightly against the boy’s chest, feeling the slow, stubborn beat underneath.
Whoever he was, he had a tough little spirit.
"Let’s focus on stabilizing him first," Law said. "We'll figure out the rest later."
Bepo nodded, planting himself firmly by the bedside.
Wherever this kid had come from, he wasn’t alone anymore.
Law adjusted the oxygen mask carefully, tightening the straps just enough to keep it secure without cutting into the boy’s cheeks. The saline drip was already running, the fluid seeping slowly into his veins to chase away the fever and dehydration. The boy’s small chest rose and fell in shallow, but steady, rhythm.
Bepo hovered at the side of the bed, his paws clutching the blanket near the boy’s shoulder. His tail was stiff, his ears pinned back, and he kept glancing between the wires and tubes, his anxiety practically vibrating off him.
"Bepo," Law said without looking up, voice low but firm. "You need to go wait outside."
"But—"
"You’re making the room too crowded. The air’s heavy enough already. If he wakes up and sees a big bear looming over him, he’s gonna panic," Law said flatly. He taped down the IV with a neat strip of bandage. "Go. I’ll come find you as soon as there's news."
Bepo hesitated, torn between staying and following Law’s orders. He looked once more at the unconscious boy, guilt and worry fighting on his face.
"...Okay," he mumbled finally.
Law reached over and squeezed Bepo’s arm once—a rare gesture of reassurance—before turning his full attention back to the patient. Bepo gave one last look, then padded out of the room, his heavy steps disappearing down the hallway.
For a moment, it was quiet, just the steady beep of the monitor and the faint rattle of the oxygen mask. Law worked quickly, wiping down the boy’s limbs with warm cloths to slowly raise his body temperature.
The boy whimpered softly in his sleep, curling slightly on instinct, and Law frowned.
"You’re fine," he murmured under his breath, not even realizing he was speaking aloud. "You’re gonna be fine."
The door creaked open behind him, and the clinic’s main doctor finally appeared, pulling off a pair of bloody gloves and tossing them into a nearby bin.
"Law," the man barked, pushing gray hair out of his face. "Give me a report."
Law straightened immediately. "Male. About seven years old. Found this morning at the port. High fever, dehydration, mild hypothermia. No obvious external injuries. Pulse strong, breathing shallow but responsive. Started IV and oxygen support."
The doctor grunted, coming to lean over the boy. His hands were calloused but surprisingly gentle as he ran a brief check himself.
"You did good," he said shortly. He flicked a glance at Law, sharp and measuring. "You’re getting faster."
Law nodded once, pride flickering briefly in his chest before he shoved it down. Now wasn’t the time.
"Stay," the doctor added, already reaching for the clipboard at the foot of the bed. "Assist me."
Law grabbed a fresh pair of gloves without hesitation.
The two of them worked quietly, tending to the boy with smooth efficiency. They didn’t talk much beyond necessary medical instructions: hand me this, adjust that, watch his breathing. Law scribbled down notes when the doctor dictated, keeping track of every slight change in temperature and heart rate.
Still, the boy didn’t wake.
Hours later, when they finally leaned back, the boy looked a little better. Color had returned faintly to his cheeks, and his shivering had lessened. But his face was still tight with fevered dreams, his small hands curling restlessly in the sheets.
The doctor sighed, scrubbing his face.
"He’s stable for now. Fever’s the bigger issue. We’ll monitor him overnight."
Law peeled off his gloves, tossing them in the bin. His arms ached, but he barely noticed. His gray eyes stayed locked on the boy’s face, watching every shallow breath.
"Stay with him for a moment ," the doctor said, already turning away toward the next emergency.
Law just nodded.
He pulled a chair close to the bed, sitting down with a soft grunt. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, but his eyes never left the small, fragile figure sleeping under the thin blanket.
For now, the boy was safe.
For now, that was enough.
Law stayed where he was, arms crossed loosely, tapping one finger against his elbow in a slow rhythm. His sharp gaze roamed over the boy’s features—dark hair messy with salt and fever sweat, skin still too pale, lips cracked from thirst. He wasn’t any kid Law had seen hanging around Pleasure Town’s busy streets, nor any of the fishing families from the island’s coastal villages.
No, he was a stranger.
Law scowled slightly at the thought.
He didn’t like strangers.
He leaned forward a little, studying the boy’s face closer, like something would click if he just looked hard enough. But nothing came. No name, no memory, no faint recognition.
The kid was an outsider.
Not that Law cared.
Once the boy was healthy enough to leave, he’d be someone else’s problem. Some authority could find him a home, or maybe he'd remember where he came from, or maybe he’d get on another raft and float away. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be Law’s responsibility beyond the clinic doors.
That was how it worked.
Patients came in.
Patients left.
Law didn’t get attached.
He sat back again, lips pressed into a thin line. The kid’s breathing hitched, then steadied again, a soft whimper slipping from his throat. Law rolled his eyes at himself for even reacting.
"Tch... annoying," he muttered under his breath.
A nurse peeked into the room, holding a clipboard. "Need anything, Law?"
He shook his head. "No. I'll monitor him."
She smiled, amused, and closed the door again quietly.
Left alone once more, Law sighed, pushing his bangs out of his face with a careless hand.
He hated being stuck in the limbo part of medicine—the part where there was nothing to do but wait and hope.
Hope was unreliable. He preferred actions he could take with his own hands.
Another soft noise from the bed drew his attention. The boy stirred faintly but didn’t wake, his face twitching like he was dreaming. Law stared at him, frowning. There was something about how small he looked that rubbed him the wrong way.
Too thin. Too sunburned. Clothes ragged and soaked in seawater.
Wherever he came from, it hadn’t been good.
Law narrowed his eyes. Maybe it was better he didn’t remember his home. Maybe it was better if no one came looking for him.
Still, none of it mattered. Not to Law.
He shifted in his chair, settling in for a long vigil, cold and clinical in his mind.
Just a patient.
Nothing more.
The boy’s hand twitched again, fingers curling toward the edge of the blanket like he was searching for something in his sleep.
Law didn’t move.
He watched, silent, waiting.
Eventually, the boy stilled once more, and the room fell into quiet breathing and the steady pulse of the heart monitor.
Law rested his chin on his hand, his sharp gaze never straying.
A stranger, a patient, a burden soon to be passed on.
That was all.
That was all it was supposed to be.
The door creaked open, and the clinic’s head doctor walked back in, flipping through a stack of papers on a clipboard. He gave a quick glance toward the sleeping boy, then shifted his sharp eyes onto Law.
"Go make yourself useful. Supplies need restocking. Charts need updating."
Law frowned but stood without argument. He grabbed the back of the chair to push it in—something neat, habitual—then cast one last glance at the unconscious child. Still the same. Still breathing. Still stable.
Good enough.
Without a word, Law left the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.
The clinic’s hallway was filled with the faint scent of antiseptic and the muted sounds of nurses moving about. Law strode toward the waiting area, intending to grab a clipboard and get started. He was surprised to find Bepo still there, sitting hunched over on one of the cracked vinyl benches, his paws wringing nervously.
Bepo’s ears perked up as soon as he spotted Law.
"Law! Is he okay?" Bepo asked immediately, getting to his feet in a clumsy rush.
Law arched a brow. "He’s fine. Stable. Nothing to panic over."
"But—" Bepo started, shifting on his feet.
Law cut him off with a short wave of his hand. "You’ve got a job, remember? Wolf’s going to skin you if you’re get fired."
Bepo’s shoulders drooped. His tail hung limp behind him, clearly torn between his duty and his worry.
"I’ll come back later," Bepo mumbled. "After work. I’ll bring Shachi and Penguin. We’ll all walk home together."
Law clicked his tongue. "Do what you want."
Still, there was a faint softening to his voice, barely there.
Bepo perked up slightly, relieved that Law didn’t seem mad. He nodded, his large head bobbing earnestly.
"Okay. Thanks, Law!"
"Don’t thank me. I’m not babysitting him for you," Law muttered, already turning away toward the supply room.
Bepo chuckled a little under his breath, the sound light and clumsy. Then he hurried out the front door, paws thudding against the wooden floor, vanishing into the bright streets of Pleasure Town.
Law paused for just a second, glancing back toward the hallway that led to the boy’s room.
"Tch," he scoffed quietly. "Bepo’s a real idiot sometimes."
Still, for reasons he didn’t care to explore, Law found himself walking just a little faster toward the storeroom.
He had things to do.
Things that didn’t involve thinking about a strange kid asleep in one of the clinic’s rooms.
And if he finished his work early, it was only because Law hated being inefficient.
Definitely not because he planned to check on the boy before Bepo returned.
Definitely not.
The storeroom was dim and dusty, and Law grabbed a clipboard off the wall, skimming the long list of supplies that needed updating. His mind flickered briefly back to the boy—half-frozen, barely breathing when Bepo had carried him in—but he shoved the thought aside with a low grunt.
Focus.
He moved briskly, pulling open cabinets, counting gauze rolls, antiseptic bottles, syringes, and marking them down. His handwriting was sharp and neat, a habit he'd picked up without even realizing it, hammered into him by the clinic's head doctor.
He worked faster than usual.
Not because he cared.
No, definitely not.
When he finished, Law turned the clipboard in and found himself standing awkwardly at the front desk, drumming his fingers against the counter.
He glanced at the hallway.
At the door at the very end.
Maybe he should make sure the kid hadn't... stopped breathing or something. Just in case.
Because a dead body would be a hassle, and Law hated hassle.
Without giving himself time to think about it, he pushed off the counter and strode back down the hall.
The boy's room was quiet, filled with the soft hum of the heart monitor. The kid hadn't moved much, though the fever had eased a little—Law could tell from the healthier color starting to return to his cheeks.
Still unconscious. Still helpless.
Law leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.
"You're a real mess," he muttered under his breath.
He stayed there longer than he meant to, watching the slow rise and fall of the boy’s chest.
He told himself he was just making sure. Just being thorough.
Finally, a nurse passing by gave him a curious look, and Law clicked his tongue and pushed away from the door, heading back toward the front before anyone could say something stupid.
Hours dragged by slowly. The clinic buzzed with the usual flow of minor injuries and checkups. Law stitched up a boy who'd gashed his knee falling from a cart, helped a fisherman with a nasty sunburn, organized a shipment of bandages, and sterilized tools—all without incident.
The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky by the time the clinic door creaked open again, and the sound of loud voices drifted in.
"Where is he, Bepo?! I wanna see!"
"Calm down, Shachi—don’t scare the kid!"
"I'm not scary!"
Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi barreled into the waiting room in a flurry of noise and energy. Bepo was in the lead, looking both guilty and determined, while Shachi and Penguin hovered behind him, whispering and elbowing each other like nosy crows.
Law, who had just finished logging patient records, sighed heavily.
"You idiots are going to get us thrown out if you don’t shut up," he snapped.
Shachi grinned. "Sorry, sorry. But c'mon, Law—we gotta see him! Bepo told us everything!"
Penguin nodded eagerly. "A kid, huh? Like, a real lost kid? From the ocean? That's crazy."
Law shot them a glare that could have frozen the ocean solid.
"You’re not seeing anything. He's still sick, and you’ll just make noise and get in the way."
Bepo stepped forward, tail drooping. "Law... can we at least wait here? Until the doctor says he’s okay?"
Law stared at them—at Bepo’s drooped ears, Penguin’s wide curious eyes, Shachi’s bouncing excitement—and rolled his eyes.
"Fine. Sit there. Don’t move. Don’t talk."
He pointed to a bench like a strict schoolteacher.
All three of them scrambled onto it immediately, sitting so stiffly they looked ridiculous.
Law gave a grunt of satisfaction and turned back toward the hall, muttering under his breath, "Idiots."
As soon as Law disappeared down the hall, the tension in the waiting room broke like a snapped rubber band.
Penguin immediately leaned closer to Bepo, whispering loudly, "Okay, so tell us again. From the beginning. Maybe we missed something important."
"I already told you everything!" Bepo hissed back, glancing nervously toward the hallway. "I found him at the port. On a raft. He was unconscious and sick. That's all!"
"Yeah, yeah, but maybe there are clues!" Shachi said, nodding sagely like he was some kind of detective. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Maybe he’s actually some kind of secret prince from a faraway kingdom, escaping a political marriage!"
Penguin blinked. "...That's a bit much."
"Hey, it could happen!" Shachi protested. "Why else would a kid be floating around all alone on a raft?!"
Penguin tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe he's a pirate captain! Like, a tiny one! Maybe he got marooned after losing a battle."
"That's stupid," Shachi snorted. "He’s, like, seven! What kind of crew would follow a seven-year-old?"
"Maybe really dumb ones?" Penguin shrugged, grinning.
Bepo groaned and covered his face with his paws. "You guys are not helping."
"But it’s fun!" Shachi said brightly.
Shachi worked as a hairstylist in the town, and if there was one thing he loved as much as trimming hair and making ridiculous styles, it was coming up with wild, dramatic stories. His brain just didn’t seem wired for normal explanations.
Penguin, who spent most of his days running food orders and dodging drunks at the local bar, had a knack for picking up gossip and spinning it into something even more unbelievable. He was the one who had originally suggested the "tiny pirate captain" theory, based entirely on a story he'd half-heard from a sailor passing through.
They were a dangerous combination when left alone with their imaginations.
"I bet he’s got amnesia," Shachi continued eagerly. "And he’s actually the son of a legendary pirate!"
"Or," Penguin added, "he’s cursed! Like, by a sea witch!"
"Or he's a merman disguised as a human child!" Shachi said, smacking his fist into his palm in excitement.
Bepo let out a long, suffering sigh. "Guys... he’s just a kid. He’s sick. He’s not cursed, he’s not a prince, and he’s definitely not a merman."
Shachi and Penguin both looked slightly disappointed but not defeated.
"You never know," Shachi muttered under his breath.
Penguin elbowed him and snickered. "You’re just mad 'cause if he’s a prince, his hair probably looks better than yours."
"Shut up!"
Their whispered bickering filled the waiting room again, and Bepo slumped in his seat, dragging his paws down his face in exasperation.
There was something comforting about the noise, the silly arguments, the way Penguin and Shachi could make the whole world seem less heavy, even when something serious was happening.
Law walked into the waiting room, now in his usual clothes — jeans, a dark hoodie, and the kind of expression that dared someone to talk to him. Bepo sat up immediately, while Shachi and Penguin scrambled to look innocent, though Shachi's whisper of "I still think he's a cursed prince" definitely didn’t help.
Law rubbed the back of his neck, looking vaguely annoyed.
"The doctor said we won’t know anything for sure until tomorrow," he said, his voice flat. "He stabilized for now, but we need to see if he wakes up properly."
Bepo’s ears drooped slightly. "So… we can’t stay?"
"No," Law replied without hesitation. "They don't want people crowding the clinic overnight. Come back tomorrow."
Penguin leaned in, whispering loudly to Bepo, "That means we’re suspicious characters."
Law stared at him.
"You're always suspicious."
Shachi choked back a laugh as Penguin clutched his chest dramatically.
"Rude!"
"Get up. We’re going home," Law said, already heading for the door.
Grumbling half-heartedly, the three boys followed him out into the cool, salty evening air of Pleasure Town. The streets were starting to quiet down, a few late-night vendors closing up shop, their lanterns swinging in the breeze. The scent of the sea was stronger here, tinged with the metallic smell of machinery from the factories along the coastline.
Their walk home took them beyond the town’s bustle, up a winding dirt path to the outskirts where the land grew rougher and wilder. Trees leaned over the road like old men whispering secrets. Crickets chirped. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled — not that it bothered them. They lived with someone much scarier.
Their home was a lopsided two-story house built half into the hillside, surrounded by scattered metal parts, broken inventions, and a garden that looked more like a junkyard. It had once been a workshop, but now it was simply Wolf’s place.
Wolf was their guardian — a towering old man with wild gray hair, calloused hands, and a permanent scowl. People in Pleasure Town thought he was a mad inventor. They weren't exactly wrong. Wolf could fix anything, build anything, and had a habit of adopting troublemakers who caught his interest.
Like Law.
And Bepo.
And Shachi.
And Penguin.
...In that order, more or less.
As they reached the crooked front porch, Law kicked open the door and called, "We’re back."
A deep voice growled from somewhere inside, "Don’t track mud in my house."
"Too late!" Penguin said cheerfully, stomping his boots just a little harder.
"You’re cleaning it," Wolf barked.
Penguin immediately stopped smiling.
Law dropped onto the worn couch, pulling his hoodie over his head with a tired sigh. Bepo flopped down beside him, still worrying silently about the boy at the clinic. Shachi wandered into the kitchen to scavenge for snacks, while Penguin started half-heartedly brushing dirt off the floor with a broken broom.
For a while, it was just the usual chaos — clanging from the kitchen, muttered cursing from Penguin, Wolf yelling about "You’re all gonna kill me before my next invention gets built!" — but the boy from the port still lingered at the back of Bepo’s mind.
He glanced at Law, who was staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought.
"Hey, Law," Bepo said quietly.
"Hm?"
"You think... he’ll be okay?"
Law closed his eyes for a moment, then shrugged.
"Probably. Kids are tough."
It wasn’t exactly comforting.
But coming from Law, it was the closest thing to reassurance Bepo was going to get.
In the cluttered, creaky kitchen, Shachi rummaged through the cabinets until he found a slightly dented can of peaches. Popping it open with a triumphant grin, he slid into a chair across from Wolf, who was hunched over a half-assembled mechanical arm on the workbench.
Penguin dropped into the seat next to him, stealing a slice of peach before Shachi could protest.
"Hey, old man," Shachi said, his mouth full. "We found a kid today."
Wolf grunted without looking up, tightening a screw with a sharp whrr of his tool.
"Good for you. Lose him on your way home."
"No, seriously," Penguin chimed in, leaning forward. "Some little kid on a raft down at the port. Looked half dead. Bepo found him."
Wolf finally lifted his head, squinting at them like they’d just told him they'd brought home a wild bear.
"You didn’t drag him here, did you?"
"No," Shachi said quickly, waving a hand. "He's at the clinic. Law says he's stable."
Wolf set down his tool with a loud clack. His thick gray eyebrows drew together in irritation.
"I don't want anything to do with lost kids. Not unless they're good for something. Tools, builders, fighters..." He jabbed a finger toward them in turn. "Like you lot. Not another mouth to feed just because you're all soft in the head."
Shachi laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Relax, gramps. It’s not like we're gonna adopt him or something."
"Yeah," Penguin added, grinning. "We’re not crazy. One Bepo is enough."
From the living room, Bepo shouted indignantly, "I heard that!"
Wolf grunted again, leaning back in his chair and giving them a hard stare.
"Good. You better remember it. We're not running a charity."
Shachi nodded, stuffing another peach slice into his mouth. "We know, we know. It’s just… Bepo's worried. And the kid looked pretty bad. Kinda skinny. Kinda... uh... tragic."
"Yeah, tragic," Penguin agreed solemnly, before immediately snickering. "Probably an orphan or a runaway or—ooh, maybe a pirate prince cursed by a sea witch!"
Wolf picked up a wrench and aimed it lazily at Penguin’s head.
Penguin ducked, laughing, while Shachi howled with amusement.
"Get out of my kitchen," Wolf growled.
"But we’re eating," Shachi protested, holding up his can of peaches like a shield.
"Out!"
Grumbling, Shachi and Penguin scrambled to their feet, Shachi carefully cradling his precious can. They bolted back toward the living room where Bepo and Law sat, the old floorboards rattling under their boots.
Wolf watched them go with a muttered curse, already returning to his work.
A bunch of troublemakers, every one of them.
And now there was another one on the horizon.
Wolf just knew it.
He sighed heavily, tightening a bolt with unnecessary force.
“Damn kids.”
The house on the edge of Pleasure Town was quiet that night.
Wolf snored like a malfunctioning engine in his room downstairs, while the younger ones sprawled out across their mismatched beds upstairs. Bepo curled into a tight ball under his thick blanket, Shachi and Penguin tossed and turned a little (no doubt dreaming up more ridiculous theories about the mysterious boy), and Law lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
A strange feeling gnawed at Law’s gut.
Something was coming.
He didn't know what — only that it wasn’t going to be simple.
He pushed the thought aside and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him at last.
Morning arrived in a blaze of dusty sunlight, and Law, already dressed, walked briskly toward the clinic, a little ahead of the others. His shoes crunched over the gravel path as the town stirred awake—shopkeepers setting out signs, fishermen shouting from the docks, the normal, peaceful life of Swallow Island beginning again.
But Law’s steps slowed when he approached the clinic.
Something prickled at the back of his neck.
Something was different.
He slipped inside, offering the usual curt nod to the receptionist. She waved at him cheerfully, whispering something about "the little one waking up," but Law barely heard her. He moved automatically, his hand brushing against the cool walls as he made his way down the hall toward the patient rooms.
The feeling grew stronger.
Like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing a storm was coming.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second outside the door, then pushed it open.
Inside, the boy sat up in bed, sunlight spilling over him like he belonged there.
His skin had regained a healthy tone, and he grinned widely, swinging his legs back and forth as he chatted animatedly with the nurse tending to him. His messy black hair stuck up in every direction, his face bright and open.
The nurse noticed Law and stepped aside, smiling.
The boy turned, his big black eyes locking onto Law immediately.
"Hi!" he chirped, his voice scratchy but full of energy.
"My name's Monkey D. Luffy! I'm gonna be the King of the Pirates!"
Law stared at him, frozen in the doorway.
The kid said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
No hesitation. No fear.
Just pure, raw certainty.
Law blinked slowly, something sinking in his chest.
This wasn’t going to be temporary.
This boy wasn’t going to just pass through their lives like some drifting piece of wood.
He was going to stick.
He was going to change everything.
Luffy grinned even wider, his legs swinging faster, completely unaware of the silent, almost horrified realization washing over Law.
"Who are you?" Luffy asked brightly.
Law closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.
"Someone who's about to regret getting out of bed today," he muttered under his breath before stepping fully into the room.
He already knew, deep in his bones, that life as they knew it was over.
And somehow, against all reason...
It didn’t feel like a bad thing.