"Oh my....!, My favorite humans have come all the way to my turf… and didn't even bother to drop by my home." a deep, playful voice echoed through the chamber just as the great coral doors creaked open.
A towering bull shark fishman entered with a grin that stretched across his razor-lined face, teeth gleaming like polished bone. His massive frame filled the doorway, and the casual swagger in his gait was unmistakable.
"Uncle Arnold!" Robin called out, smiling as she set down her book.
"Uncle!" Reiju chimed in, leaping from her seat. The rest followed with cheerful greetings, a chorus of affection rising around the fishman as if a beloved elder had just walked in.
Arnold had that effect.
Of all the fishmen in the vast reaches of the Grand Line, Arnold was the only one who had carved a place for himself not just among the Donquixote core—but within it. A true member of the family. Trusted. Loved. Respected.
Even Gladius gave a faint nod. And that was saying something.
Smoker, however, was halfway out of his chair—ready to use Arnold's entrance as the perfect excuse to escape the poker table (and his crushing losses)—until he noticed two more figures standing at the threshold. His gaze darkened as his eyes fixed on them, silently narrowing with recognition.
Standing behind Arnold were Fisher Tiger and Jinbe.
Smoker didn't speak, but the question was etched into his posture: Why are they here?
Arnold noticed immediately. He held up both hands in mock surrender, smirking. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Smoker. I didn't invite 'em. They just… followed me here. And remember—this ain't my home."
He walked into the chamber like he owned it anyway, passing the gathered siblings with ease and affection. Sugar had already spread her arms wide before he'd reached her, and without a word, Arnold scooped her up into his arms, spinning her around in a gentle whirl that drew laughter from her tiny form.
Behind him, Fisher Tiger and Jinbe remained still. The tension shifted like pressure beneath the sea. They hadn't come for pleasantries. They were here for Arlong.
Giolla, the elder and steward of the Donquixote family in this delegation, rose from her seat near the far wall. Though she stood shorter than the two towering fishmen, her presence dwarfed them both. Years of commanding, politics, and power emanated from her like gravity itself.
The fishmen bowed slightly—not out of fear, but out of recognition and respect. They understood the stakes. Fisher Tiger, proud and unyielding, had already accepted that the Ryugu Kingdom would not intervene further in Arlong's fate. The boy had brought this upon himself.
Now, it fell to them to plead with the only ones who held the leash on that fate—the Donquixote family.
Giolla's voice broke the silence, cool and composed. "Come in."
It was not an invitation—it was a summons. And it carried the weight of decision. Fisher Tiger and Jinbe stepped forward, their massive forms moving through the chamber like warships cutting through deep waters. But as they entered, their eyes were drawn—again and again—not to Giolla, not to the ornate coral furniture, nor to the Ryugu Kingdom's opulence offered to the Donquixote family—but to the bonds unfolding before them.
Arnold was seated cross-legged now, Sugar still nestled in his lap, while Reiju leaned comfortably against his shoulder, munching on a fruit tart. Robin had returned to her book, but her smile lingered. Gladius grumbled as Monet poured drinks for the guests, and Smoker, arms crossed, leaned against the wall with a sulky scowl.
There was laughter. Teasing. Peace. And not once—not for a heartbeat—did anyone look at Arnold and see a fishman. They saw family.
For all their talk of unity, progress, and equality… it was here, in this strange, chaotic circle of former monsters and broken children, that Fisher Tiger saw something that put everything else to shame.
True kinship.
Even Jinbe looked shaken.
"Would you like something to drink?" Monet asked softly, already preparing refreshments at the coral shelf. Her voice was polite but genuine.
Fisher Tiger's throat tightened. This wasn't how he imagined this meeting would begin. He had come prepared for hostility, for negotiations drenched in old hatred. But this… this disarmed him.
Giolla finally sat, but her gaze remained locked on them. "You know why you're here. So speak."
Jinbe stepped forward first, bowing slightly.
"We are not here to excuse Arlong," he said solemnly. "What he did… was unforgivable. But we ask not for mercy. We ask only for time."
Fisher Tiger nodded, voice low and heavy. "Let him live… long enough to understand the weight of what he's done. Don't give him a martyr's end. Let him earn his chains."
The chamber fell silent again, the weight of history stretching between them like a tide pulling back before a storm. Robin looked to Shyarly, who simply sipped her tea.
"Nah," Smoker said, pushing off the pillar with a hard look in his eyes, his voice rough as gravel. "I simply prefer vermin like that to be put down then and there."
He folded his arms, cigarette smoke curling from the corner of his lips as he locked eyes with the two fishmen.
"Learning from punishment?" he scoffed. "That bastard's not the type. I'll bet you anything that even now—rotting in a dungeon cell—he's dreaming of revenge. Plotting. Waiting. Arlong doesn't learn. He festers."
Giolla didn't reprimand him. She merely gave Smoker a glance that told him to hold his tongue—for now. Then she turned to Fisher Tiger and Jinbei, her expression composed but piercing.
"Please," she said calmly, motioning to the coral-carved seats. "Sit."
Fisher Tiger sighed, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders. He knew the boy—Smoker—was right. It hurt to admit, but Arlong's rage wasn't a spark. It was a furnace. One that would never cool, only consume. And if pardoned, he wouldn't see it as mercy—he'd see it as weakness. Fuel.
Still, Tiger sat. Jinbei followed, but neither spoke—because deep down, they already knew what came next. Giolla's eyes gleamed, and her voice struck with the quiet weight of anger.
"Tell me, Fisher Tiger… Jinbei," she said, tone unflinching. "If someone had harmed your family—with the intent to kill—would you let them walk?"
The room fell silent. No excuses. No diplomacy. Just the question—and the truth it demanded. Fisher's fists clenched tightly in his lap. He didn't look up. Jinbei said nothing. Because they both knew the answer.
They'd tear the bastard apart. That truth sat in their hearts like an anchor.
Fisher Tiger felt the shame bloom across his chest. He blamed himself. Somewhere, somehow, he'd failed Arlong. If only he had reined him in when he was young… if only he'd cut through the pride, the venom, the pain before it bloomed into hate. Maybe this wouldn't have happened.
But that time was long gone. And now they were here—pleading for the life of a man they both knew was too far gone.
"Arlong…" Jinbei finally said, struggling to find words, "…has more reason than most to hate humans. You know his past. His family—"
But Giolla raised a hand, cutting him off with surgical precision.
"Let's say—for the sake of argument—that Arlong's hatred of humans is so deeply rooted, so raw, that he acted on instinct. That he struck Robin without thinking. Fine. Let's grant that benefit."
Her eyes narrowed now, the heat behind them rising.
"But tell me, Jinbei… what instinct makes a man attack his own sister?"
The silence hit like a cannon.
"Because that's what happened. Arlong didn't just target Robin. He tried to strike Shyarly—the girl standing right there. His blood. His kin."
Jinbei and Fisher both turned. Their eyes locked on the mermaid girl sitting quietly on the couch, holding a deck of cards. Her presence had registered before—but now, context crashed down like a tidal wave.
The resemblance was there. Jinbei saw it instantly. The eyes. The shape of her face. The memory. Years ago, he used to care for a little mermaid girl, too shy to speak and too curious for her own good. Arlong's half-sister. He'd believed she'd been kidnapped by pirates. Lost forever.
But she wasn't lost. She was here. Among them.
"Shyarly…?" Jinbei whispered, voice hoarse.
She turned to him, gently placing her cards down. Her voice was calm. Graceful. Measured.
"Hello, Brother Jinbei."
It was like a ripple through glass. Fisher Tiger's expression collapsed into stunned silence. Jinbei's jaw tightened, his hands trembling. She hadn't aged much in appearance, but she had changed. There was power in her eyes now. Confidence. A quiet kind of dignity that could only come from belonging—from being loved.
Both Jinbei and Fisher Tiger sat in silence—shame clinging to them heavier than any iron chain.
They had already resolved to leave Fishman Island behind, to sail the seas as outlaws and pirates. But one thing tethered them still.
Arlong.
For all his hatred, his cruelty, his recklessness—they couldn't just leave him to rot in the Ryugu dungeons. To abandon him now would be condemning him to death. And yet… the weight of their defense grew heavier with each passing second. Jinbei's eyes turned to the one figure who might still lend them a voice.
Arnold.
The bull shark fishman had always stood at the boundary—between humans and fishmen, between past and future. He had walked both sides. If anyone could intercede… it was him.
Arnold, who sat with Sugar perched lazily on his broad shoulder, met Jinbei's gaze.
But there was no sympathy in his eyes. Just a quiet storm of disappointment.
"Jinbei," Arnold said, his voice firm but tired. "Don't look at me."
He gently lifted Sugar off his shoulder and set her beside Shyarly, standing now like a wall between his family and his past.
"The last time I tried to fix the mess you guys created," he continued, "I nearly lost the trust of the only family that's ever truly mattered. I won't make that mistake again."
His tone hardened like coral under pressure.
"You should be grateful I'm not asking you both to leave outright. Because believe me… I'm this close."
Jinbei's mouth opened, but no words came. Arnold wasn't finished.
"I get it," he said. "I know why you're doing this. Loyalty. Guilt. History. I've been there. But just because I understand doesn't mean I approve. Not even close."
His gaze snapped to Fisher Tiger. "And you…"
Tiger flinched, like a blow had struck him straight across the chest.
"You talk about trust. About brotherhood. But after what you pulled at Sabaody, you nearly burned everything I've built to the ground."
Arnold took a step forward, towering, his voice rising.
"Do you even realize that the only reason you made it out of that hellhole in Mariejois alive… is because of what Doffy pulled behind enemy lines? Did you ever stop to think about that while clinging to your self-righteous pride?"
The words hit like a tidal wave.
"Forget gratitude," Arnold spat. "Were you even man enough to say sorry?"
The room fell silent. Robin closed her book. Smoker sat still, not even touching his cigarette. Shyarly looked away. The weight of the question hung in the air like a noose.
"Brother Arnold…" Jinbei started, voice low. "Brother Tiger has already apologized to the royal family in earnest—"
Arnold barked a bitter laugh.
"The royal family? Hah!"
He turned sharply, pointing straight at Fisher.
"Tell me, Jinbei—did he offend the Ryugu Kingdom? No. He insulted the Donquixote family. The ones who opened their arms to us when no one else would. The ones who gave us a future. And you—" he stared directly at Tiger "—you couldn't even pick up the courage to apologize to the ones who, despite all you have done, still decided to keep their original promise."
Every word struck with surgical precision. Fisher Tiger couldn't meet his eyes. He stared down at the floor, jaw clenched, every word cutting deeper than a sword. Arnold wasn't done.
"For all your high and mighty talk about being treated equal and a better world—you're still like Arlong," he said coldly. "Too proud to kneel. Too blind to see humans as anything more than enemies…beneath us. That's the truth, isn't it?"
Tiger felt the words burrow deep. Not as an insult—but as a revelation. Because it was true. Somewhere deep inside, beneath the scars and ideals… the pride still lingered. The belief that no matter what, his kind would never be equal to theirs.
And he hated himself for it. He had worn the chains of a slave. But pride was the chain he had placed on himself. And maybe—just maybe—that was the one that had done the most damage.
The silence following Arnold's rebuke felt like a tide receding, dragging everything with it—honor, pride, and defiance.
Fisher Tiger sat still, shoulders hunched forward like the great cliffs of Fishman Island, weathered by storms no one else could see. His fists trembled against his knees. The muscles in his jaw clenched, tightened, then released—over and over again, like a drowning man trying to force himself to breathe.
Everyone in the room felt it. The shift. The pain. The decision being born in real time.
Shyarly, who had watched quietly, looked toward her fellow brethren, not with scorn—but with the quiet hope only a fishfolk could hold, even after everything.
Tiger exhaled. Slow. Long. And then he stood. He turned, not to Arnold, not to Jinbei—but to Giolla. To Robin. To Shyarly. To Monet. To Sugar. To every young member of the Donquixote family that sat in that chamber with the maturity of soldiers and the scars of survivors.
He took a single step forward—and dropped to his knees.
The sound of bone hitting marble echoed across the chamber like a thunderclap. Even Smoker stopped mid-puff. Jinbei's eyes widened. Arnold's expression flickered with something unreadable. And then… Fisher Tiger bowed his head.
"I was wrong," he said, voice rough—raw. Like coral breaking apart beneath the pressure of the sea. "I've been wrong for a long, long time."
The words came slowly at first, like pulling stones from his chest.
"I told myself I stood for my people. That I fought for justice. That I rebelled against tyranny and enslavement to build a better world for fishmen."
He looked up—not at Arnold or Jinbei—but at Shyarly.
"But in truth… I was running. Running from my own hatred. From my pride. From the truth."
His voice cracked.
"When I escaped Mariejois, I carried more than just the scars of the chains. I carried the belief that no matter what happened, no matter how kind or just a human might be… they would never be my equal. I hated them—not because they were my enemy—but because I was afraid they might one day not be."
He turned his eyes slowly to Robin—sitting quietly, watching him with a gaze that was neither cruel nor kind, but curious. Measured.
"When Arlong attacked you, he didn't just strike at a member of your family. He struck at everything I claimed to stand for. And I… I let it happen."
He took a deep breath.
"I didn't raise that boy right. I didn't correct him when he started to fester in his hate. I told myself he'd grow out of it. That he was just angry, just misguided. But the truth is… I was too proud to confront him. I saw myself in him."
He looked to Giolla now—eyes heavy, hollowed by regret.
"I owe you more than I can ever repay. You extended your hands, your protection, your trust. And I—arrogant and wounded—spat on that kindness."
Another breath. Another truth.
"I should have come to you sooner. I should have kneeled sooner."
He lowered his head again, forehead pressing to the marble.
"I beg you… not as a captain. Not as a pirate. Not even as a fishman."
His hands clenched the ground beneath him.
"But as a brother who failed. As a man who let his own pride blind him. Please… spare Arlong's life." The words hung in the air like thunder waiting to crash.
"I know," he continued, "he deserves no such mercy. I know he hurt one of yours. I won't ask you to forgive him. I won't ask you to release him. Lock him away. Cast him out. Brand him if you must. But please… don't take his life."
His voice trembled, for the first time ever.
"I've lost many things to this cruel world. My friends. My freedom. My faith."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Please don't make me lose my brother too. Not like this."
The room was still. Then came the quiet shuffle of movement. Robin stood. She walked toward him—not with hesitation, nor with anger—but with quiet dignity. She knelt in front of him and placed a hand gently over his trembling shoulders.
Fisher looked up, startled. Robin's eyes held no hatred. Only a deep, aching sorrow that didn't belong to a child, but to someone who had lived through the crushing weight of betrayal and still chose hope.
"We don't spare people because they deserve it," she said softly. "We do it because we choose not to become like them."
Fisher's lip trembled, the steel inside him finally melting under the warmth of those words.
Giolla stood next, walking beside Robin, her heavy, flowing dress trailing like the surf behind her.
"We never hated you," she said to him. "We pitied you. Because you had all the fire and none of the humility."
She looked down at him, and for the first time, her eyes softened.
"You knelt today, not just for Arlong—but for yourself. And that… may have saved you both."
Then Arnold stepped forward. His expression was unreadable. He looked down at his old comrade, his friend, his failure—and his brother.
"I should've said this long ago," Arnold muttered. "But I'm proud of you, Tiger." Fisher blinked.
"Proud…?"
Arnold nodded slowly.
"Because for the first time in your life, you finally stopped fighting… and started facing."
Jinbei couldn't hold back anymore. He stepped forward and dropped to his knees beside Tiger.
"I'm with him," Jinbei said. "I'll take responsibility too. For Arlong. For our pride. For every step we took in hate instead of hope."
The air seemed lighter somehow. The tide had turned. Shyarly approached slowly, kneeling beside her brethren. She reached out and placed her tiny hand in theirs.
"You're not perfect, nobody is…" she whispered. "But you're still my kin."