Scene 8: Gordon’s Truth

• Location: Elegia Ruins (Gordon’s Hideout)
• POV Character: Gordon

The stones of my kingdom are always cold now.
Here, deep beneath the surface of the island, the neon madness of Uta’s New Genesis cannot penetrate the thick, scorched masonry. This was once the royal archive of Elegia, a place of learning and beauty. Now, it is nothing more than a tomb, lit by a single, flickering lantern that casts long, trembling shadows against the walls. The air smells of damp earth, old paper, and the lingering, phantom scent of ash that has haunted my nose for twelve years.
I sat heavily on a broken stone pillar, wrapping my large arms around myself. The Straw Hat Pirates had gathered in the dim light. They were a hurricane of a crew—loud, vibrant, and utterly defying the despair that ruled this island. Straw Hat Luffy stood at the center, uncharacteristically quiet, the brim of his hat casting a dark shadow over his eyes.
Just moments ago, their navigator and musician had quite literally fallen from the sky, bringing with them a strange addition: a small boy in blocky, green-and-brown sleepwear, gripping a piece of driftwood as if it were a knight’s sword. The child was practically vibrating with nervous adrenaline, his eyes darting around my ruined sanctuary. He didn't belong here. He possessed none of the hardened edges of the New World.
But I could not focus on the child. The time for hiding was over. The demon, Tot Musica, was stirring. I had to confess the sin I had carried for over a decade.
"You must understand," I began, my voice thick with the dust of the ruins. It sounded hollow, even to my own ears. "The world believes that Red-Haired Shanks is a monster. They believe his crew slaughtered my people and burned Elegia to the ground in a fit of pirate greed. But it is a lie. A lie I have harbored for twelve long years."
I paused, gathering the courage to speak the words aloud.
"Yeah, I know this part," a high, impatient voice muttered.
I blinked, looking up through the gloom. The little boy in the strange pajamas was pacing in a tight circle, tapping his driftwood stick against the stone. He wasn't looking at me; he was staring at the ground, nodding to himself like he was checking items off a list.
"Uta sang the forbidden sheet music," the boy continued casually, his words spilling out in a rapid, breathless rush. "She woke up the Demon King, Tot Musica. It destroyed the whole island. Shanks and his crew fought it and beat it, but everyone was already dead. So Shanks took the blame. He left her here with you so she wouldn't have to grow up knowing she killed her own fans. It's the tragic backstory."
The cavern fell dead silent. The Straw Hats stared at the boy in shock.
I stared at him, completely paralyzed. My breath caught in my scarred throat. How could he know? How could this tiny, strange child possess the darkest, most closely guarded secret of the Grand Line?
But it wasn't just that he knew. It was how he said it.
The tragic backstory. He summarized the blood of my people, the burning of my beautiful city, and the absolute, heart-shattering sacrifice of a father giving up his daughter... as if it were nothing more than a summary in a textbook.
A sharp, agonizing pain seized my chest. The dam I had built inside my soul for twelve years suddenly cracked. The sheer, overwhelming weight of the memories—the screams of the citizens, the sight of Shanks bleeding and smiling through his tears as he walked away from his crying little girl, the years of lying to Uta's face every single day while she slowly went mad from the isolation—it all crashed down on me.
"She was just a child," I choked out.
My voice broke. I couldn't stop it. The tears, hot and thick, spilled over my scarred cheeks. I dropped to my knees on the cold stone floor, my massive frame shaking violently. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing aloud. I was a king who had failed to protect his kingdom. I was a guardian who had failed to protect his ward. I was a coward. The heavy, ugly sound of my weeping echoed off the ruined walls.
The pacing footsteps abruptly stopped.
I heard the dull clatter of wood hitting stone as the boy dropped his stick.
When I finally managed to open my eyes, gasping for air, the boy was standing right in front of me. The frantic, impatient energy had completely vanished from his face. The bravado was gone. He was staring at my tears, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.
I could see the exact moment the reality of this world finally pierced his armor. To him, perhaps, this had just been a story. A tale of moving pictures and distant tragedies. But looking at me—a broken, scarred old man weeping on the floor—the barrier of fiction shattered. Real grief is an ugly, heavy thing, and the boy was feeling the full, suffocating weight of it.
"I..." The boy swallowed hard, his voice suddenly small and trembling. He looked down at his bare feet, his cheeks flushing with intense shame. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that. I forgot... I forgot you're real."
He took a tentative step closer. He didn't look like a legendary outlaw anymore. He just looked like an eight-year-old boy.
"It's just..." The boy hesitated, searching for the words. He looked up at me, his eyes shining with a sudden, profound empathy that stole the breath from my lungs. "I know it hurts. Kids always want their parents to stay. But... my mom and my dad, they don't live together anymore. They have this thing called unmediated shared custody."
I wiped a tear from my eye, bewildered. "Custody?"
The boy nodded slowly. "It means they had to make a really logical, hard plan about where I sleep and when I see them. I used to hate it. But my dad, Ryan... he told me once that sometimes, adults have to do really hard, painful things to make sure the kid is safe. Even if it makes the kid mad. Even if it breaks the adult's heart."
He reached out, his small hand gently touching my massive, trembling arm.
"Shanks didn't abandon her because he's a pirate," the boy said softly, his voice carrying a wisdom far beyond his years. "He made a dad choice. The hardest dad choice ever. He took all the bad stuff so Uta wouldn't have to carry it. And you... you stayed with her. You kept her safe when her dad couldn't. That doesn't make you a coward, Gordon. That makes you a good guy."
I stared at the child, utterly speechless. The crushing vice around my heart, the guilt that had suffocated me for a decade, did not disappear—but it loosened. Just a fraction. It was as if this strange boy had reached into my soul and untied a knot I couldn't reach.
A shadow shifted behind the boy. Luffy stepped forward, his eyes hidden beneath his straw hat, but a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips.
"He's right, Gordon," Luffy said quietly. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Shanks is a great man. And Uta is my friend. We're going to stop her from doing this, but we're not going to hurt her."
I took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, using my hands to push myself up from the cold floor. "The citizens she trapped... they are being controlled by the music outside. They are marching on this location."
Luffy cracked his knuckles, the fierce, unyielding spirit of a captain radiating from him. "Zoro! Sanji!"
The swordsman and the cook stepped forward from the shadows, their eyes hard and ready for battle.
"Keep the fans back. Don't hurt them, just knock 'em out," Luffy ordered.
As the two men nodded and turned toward the tunnel leading out to the wasteland, the boy—Gavin—bent down and picked up his driftwood stick. He took a deep breath, his small shoulders rising and falling, and ran to catch up with the two most dangerous fighters in the crew. The empathy was still in his eyes, but he was burying his terror beneath a fresh layer of theatrical courage, marching out to face the madness.

Scene 9: The Puss in Boots Pep Talk

• Location: Uta World Wasteland
• POV Character: Gavin Brenizer

The Uta World Wasteland looked like someone took a desert biome in Minecraft, stripped out all the textures, and bathed the whole thing in a creepy, pulsing ultraviolet light.
Stepping out of the dark, cold ruins of the archive and into this barren landscape was a massive shock to my system. The ground beneath my bare feet was hard, cracked stone, glowing faintly with weird, pulsing music-staff lines that stretched out into the hazy pink horizon.
And cresting over a jagged ridge about a hundred yards away was the horde.
Thousands of Uta’s fans. They weren't cheering or jumping anymore. They were marching. They moved with this jerky, unnatural stiffness, completely mind-controlled by the little glowing musical notes floating right above their heads. Some of them were just normal citizens, but a lot of them were pirates carrying heavy iron pipes, giant swords, and flintlocks. The bass of Uta’s song thumped through the ground, dictating their footsteps. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I swallowed hard. The wild engine in my chest was misfiring, grinding its gears. Watching mind-controlled mobs swarm the heroes in Mob Psycho 100 is awesome when you’re on the couch. Seeing them in real life, their eyes completely blank, marching directly toward you to bash your head in? That is straight-up terrifying.
The familiar, awful rubber-band feeling tightened around my lungs. My hands started to shake. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to run back into the dark stone archive and hide behind Gordon’s giant cape. I was eight years old. I was wearing pajamas. I had a piece of driftwood.
But I couldn't run.
Because standing exactly one step to my left was Roronoa Zoro, calmly tying a dark green bandana around his head.
And standing exactly one step to my right was Vinsmoke Sanji, exhaling a thin, cool cloud of blue smoke from his cigarette, casually adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket.
Are you kidding me? I was standing on the frontline with the Wings of the Pirate King. I was literally sandwiched inside the Monster Trio. If I cried right now, if I turned and ran like a scared little kid, I would never, ever forgive myself. I would have to turn in my gamer card and my anime fan card for the rest of my life.
I squeezed my driftwood stick until my knuckles popped. I needed a character. When Mrs. K taught us stage combat for Shrek Jr., she said your posture tells the audience everything. If you stand like a coward, your brain believes you're a coward. If you plant your feet and stand like a hero, your brain believes you're a hero. You have to fake the confidence until your nervous system catches up.
I took a deep breath. Smell the flower, blow out the candle. I stepped forward, right between the two legendary pirates, planting my bare feet wide in the glowing dust.
"Don't sweat it, guys," I said. I pushed my voice down, projecting from my diaphragm so it wouldn't squeak. "I can take the aggro. You guys just focus on DPS."
Sanji paused, the cigarette hanging from his lips. He looked down at me, one golden eyebrow raised. "Aggro? What the heck is he talking about? Hey, eggplant, get back in the dungeon. This is no place for a pip-squeak in pajamas. We have to knock these people out without actually hurting them, which requires precision. You're gonna get trampled."
"I'm not an eggplant, and I'm not a pip-squeak," I said, keeping my eyes dead-locked on the approaching horde. "And I know exactly who you guys are, so I know we're fine."
I pointed my driftwood stick at Sanji without looking at him. "Black Leg Sanji. Bounty: One Billion, thirty-two million Berries."
Sanji blinked, a puff of smoke escaping his mouth.
Then, I shifted the stick, pointing it at the swordsman. "Pirate Hunter Zoro. Bounty: One Billion, one hundred and eleven million Berries."
Zoro stopped drawing his swords. The metallic shing of the white scabbard paused halfway. He turned his head, his one good eye locking onto my face. A slow, dangerous, highly amused smirk spread across his face.
"Oh?" Zoro grunted, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest. "You know your bounties, kid. You keeping score?"
"I know the meta," I said confidently. I pulled my stick back and dropped into my ultimate fencer's stance. Center of gravity low. Shoulders squared. I flourished the driftwood, doing the quick figure-eight wrist movement I had practiced in my bedroom mirror a thousand times.
"I am a legendary outlaw," I declared, channeling every single ounce of Antonio Banderas I had in my soul. I jutted my chin out, staring down the terrifying army of mind-controlled zombies. "I ask for no mercy, and I give none! For I... laugh in the face of danger. Ha. Ha. Ha."
It was totally ridiculous. I knew it was ridiculous. I was an eighty-pound kid threatening a magical army with a stick. But doing the bit—saying the lines, holding the pose—it worked. The rubber band around my lungs snapped. The panic was still there, but it was trapped underneath a heavy, awesome layer of pure theatrical bravado.
Sanji let out a long sigh, shaking his head, though I could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Great. He's got the moss-head's brain combined with Luffy's complete lack of self-preservation. We're doomed."
"Shut up, curly brows," Zoro smirked, fully drawing Wado Ichimonji and letting it rest casually over his shoulder. "The kid's got more warrior spirit than you do. Watch the left flank. Try not to trip over your own stupid feet."
"Who are you giving orders to, you fourth-rate slicer?!" Sanji snapped, his leg suddenly igniting with a burst of bright, crackling flames. The heat washed over my face, smelling like ozone and campfire. "I'll protect the kid! You just try not to get lost on a straight, open battlefield!"
"Huh?! You wanna die before they even get here, love-cook?!" Zoro barked back, turning toward him.
They were literally inches from my face, screaming at each other while a thousand enemies charged us, but I had never felt safer in my entire life. The horde was getting closer—fifty yards, forty yards. I could hear their boots pounding against the cracked stone.
Zoro suddenly stopped yelling at Sanji. He looked down at me, the fierce, demonic aura of the Pirate Hunter rolling off him in waves. It was so intense it actually made the air feel heavy, but it wasn't scary. It felt like a massive shield.
"You're a brave kid, Puss in Boots," Zoro said, his voice dropping to a serious, quiet rumble. "But I don't let my crew take hits for me."
He stepped smoothly in front of me, his broad back completely blocking my view of the charging horde. Sanji stepped up right beside him, his flaming leg casting long, heroic shadows over the glowing dirt. Together, they formed an absolute, impenetrable wall.
"Stay exactly behind my swords anyway," Zoro ordered.
"And if any of them get past this idiot, just crouch down," Sanji added, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Leave the kicking to the professionals."
"Yes, sir," I whispered, dropping the theatrical voice. I gripped my stick with both hands, my wild engine humming with pure, unadulterated hype. I wasn't just watching the anime anymore. I was in the party.
The horde roared, a unified, mindless scream.
Zoro drew his second sword. Sanji lifted his leg. And the Monster Trio went to work.