Part I: The Uniqueness of the Island
Shanks and Beckman walked through the streets of Origin City, their senses overwhelmed by the strangeness of the place.
They had visited countless islands across the Grand Line. They had seen kingdoms ruled by tyrants, villages crushed by pirates, cities abandoned after war. They had seen fear in the eyes of civilians—the dull acceptance of people who had learned that the powerful could do whatever they wanted.
This island was different.
Shanks felt it first. The suppression of the dome was still there—his power diminished, his body heavier—but beneath that suppression, something else pulsed. Vitality. Happiness. Calm. Peace. The people here were not afraid.
Beckman noticed it second. A group of children ran past them, laughing, chasing a glowing ball. They did not look at the pirates with fear. They did not run to their parents. They simply played.
"No one is afraid," Beckman murmured.
Shanks nodded slowly. "No one."
---
Part II: The Tavern
Lucky Roux and Yasopp had found the tavern.
It was a simple building—wooden walls, a long bar, tables scattered across the floor. The smell of food and ale filled the air. A few citizens sat at the tables, eating, drinking, talking.
Lucky Roux walked to the bar and ordered food. Yasopp ordered drinks. The bartender—a middle-aged woman with steady hands—took their order without hesitation, without fear, without the trembling that usually accompanied pirates of their reputation.
"That will be 15 HDC," she said.
Lucky Roux blinked. "HDC?"
The bartender pointed to a panel on the wall. "Haven Digital Credit. The currency of the island. You registered as tourists, yes? Your panel will have your balance."
Lucky Roux looked at his wrist. The golden sigil glowed faintly. He touched it, and a panel appeared, showing his balance: 0 HDC.
"I don't have any," he said.
The bartender smiled. "First-time visitors receive a 50 HDC credit. Enough for food and drink for a week." She pointed to the panel. "Your balance should be updated."
Lucky Roux looked again. The panel now showed: 50 HDC.
"Convenient," he said.
The bartender nodded. "The Administrator believes in hospitality."
Lucky Roux and Yasopp sat down with their food and drink. The other patrons did not stare. Did not whisper. Did not edge away. They simply continued their meals.
"This is strange," Yasopp said.
Lucky Roux took a bite of his food. "Strange? This is impossible. We're pirates. They should be afraid."
"But they're not."
Lucky Roux chewed thoughtfully. "No. They're not."
---
Part III: The Children's Taunt
A group of children entered the tavern.
They were young—perhaps eight or nine years old—with the boundless energy of children who had never known hunger or fear. They ran between the tables, laughing, playing.
One of them—a boy with bright eyes and a mischievous grin—stopped in front of Lucky Roux.
"You're a pirate," the boy said.
Lucky Roux raised an eyebrow. "Yes."
The boy puffed out his chest. "My father was a pirate. He followed the rules. Now he's a citizen. He works on a farm."
Lucky Roux was silent.
The boy grinned. "So follow the rules, pirate. Or the guardians will get you."
He ran off, laughing, rejoining his friends.
Yasopp stared after him. "Did that child just threaten us?"
Lucky Roux laughed—a deep, rumbling laugh. "I think he did."
The other children gathered around the pirates, taunting them, daring them to make a bad move. But Lucky Roux and Yasopp did not react. They had learned the rules. They knew what happened to those who broke them.
One of the children pulled on Yasopp's coat. "Are you strong?"
Yasopp smiled. "Yes."
"Can you beat the guardians?"
Yasopp's smile faded. "No."
The children laughed. "Then follow the rules!"
They ran off again, their laughter echoing through the tavern.
Lucky Roux shook his head. "This island is something else."
A moment later, one of the children returned, holding a handful of candies. He thrust them at Lucky Roux.
"Here," the boy said. "My mother says guests should be treated nicely."
Lucky Roux stared at the candies. Then he laughed and took them.
"Thank you," he said.
The boy nodded and ran off.
Yasopp watched the exchange with wide eyes. "They taunted us. Then they gave us candy."
Lucky Roux popped a candy into his mouth. "I like this island."
---
Part IV: The Pirate's Explanation
Beckman stood at the bar, watching the scene with confusion.
He had seen many things in his years as a pirate. He had seen civilians cower, beg, fight, flee. He had never seen children taunt pirates and then offer them candy.
A man approached him—a former pirate, by the look of his clothes and the scars on his arms. He smiled at Beckman, recognizing the confusion in his eyes.
"You're new here," the man said.
Beckman nodded. "We are."
The man leaned against the bar. "Let me explain how this island works."
He spoke of the Administrator. Of the dome. Of the laws that protected every citizen. Of the guardians who enforced those laws without cruelty, without favoritism. Of the system that tracked every action, every transaction, every violation.
"There is no hierarchy here," the man said. "No nobles. No king. The Administrator serves the people. The magistrates serve the community. Everyone is equal."
Beckman's eyes narrowed. "Everyone?"
"Everyone." The man gestured at the tavern. "That former pirate over there? He owns a farm now. That woman? She was a slave. Now she's a teacher. Those children? They've never known war. They've never known hunger. They've never known fear."
He looked at Beckman.
"This island is not perfect. But it is the closest thing to peace I have ever seen."
Beckman was silent for a long moment.
"And the Administrator?" he asked. "What is he like?"
The man shrugged. "Mysterious. He doesn't show himself often. But sometimes he visits the island. He talks to people. He listens. He helps." The man smiled. "Just like the law says. He exists to serve, not to rule."
Beckman felt something he had not expected.
Admiration.
He exists to serve, not to rule, Beckman thought. A boy who built an island from nothing. Who defeated a Warlord. Who created a system that works. And he calls himself a servant.
He looked at Shanks. The captain had been listening, his expression unreadable.
"We should meet him," Shanks said.
The man shook his head. "Good luck. He's been in closed meditation for days. No one sees him until he's ready."
Shanks smiled. "Then we wait."
---
Part V: Aokiji's Arrival
The tavern door opened.
A tall man entered—lanky, with dark hair and tired eyes. He wore a simple coat, not his admiral uniform. His body moved with the ease of someone who had recently been healed.
Aokiji.
He had spent the morning in the healing house, lying on the stone slab, feeling the golden glow wash over him. Every injury—the muscle tears, the bruises, the exhaustion—had been healed. Even old wounds, injuries that had rooted in his body years ago, had faded under the light.
He had thanked Leo deeply. The lion general had simply laughed and said, "We are not enemies, Admiral. We are sparring partners."
Aokiji had left the healing house feeling better than he had in years.
Now, walking into the tavern, he felt something else.
Stares.
He looked around the room. The citizens did not recognize him—he was just another tall man in a coat. But at a table near the window, a group of pirates had gone very still.
The Red Hair Pirates.
Shanks looked up and saw him. His face split into a wide grin.
"Kuzan!" Shanks shouted, rising from his seat. "Seeing you for a long time! It's time for a celebration! A banquet! A drink is on me for the whole day!"
The tavern erupted in cheers. Citizens who had no idea who Shanks was cheered anyway—because free drinks were free drinks. The bartender began pouring. Lucky Roux ordered another plate of food. Yasopp raised his glass.
Beckman slapped his forehead.
Aokiji stood frozen at the door, his tired eyes widening.
An emperor, he thought. An emperor is here. On this island. In this tavern.
What a drag.
---
Part VI: The Unwelcome Reunion
Shanks crossed the tavern in a few quick strides and threw his arm around Aokiji's shoulders.
"Come, come! Sit! Drink! We have so much to catch up on!"
Aokiji allowed himself to be guided to the table. He sat down heavily, his expression resigned.
"You're not supposed to be here," Aokiji said.
Shanks laughed. "Neither are you."
"I'm here on official business."
"So am I." Shanks grinned. "Official business of the Red Hair Pirates. Very official. Much business."
Beckman sat down across from Aokiji, his eyes sharp.
"You fought one of the guardians," Beckman said. It was not a question.
Aokiji nodded slowly. "Leo. The lion."
"And?"
Aokiji was silent for a moment. Then: "He is Admiral-class. Stronger than me in close combat. Much stronger."
Beckman's expression did not change, but his eyes flickered.
"There are twelve of them," Aokiji continued. "Twelve Admiral-level powerhouses. And the Administrator is stronger than all of them combined."
Shanks's smile faded slightly. "Stronger than all of them combined?"
Aokiji met his eyes. "The dome. The system. The guardians. They are all extensions of his power. He is not just a boy with a Devil Fruit. He is something else. Something new."
The table was silent.
Then Shanks laughed again, breaking the tension.
"Well," he said, "this is goi
ng to be interesting."
He raised his glass.
"To the Administrator! To Haven Star Wing Island! To the strangest island in the Grand Line!"
The tavern cheered. Aokiji sighed.
What a drag, he thought again.
But he raised his glass anyway.