Snow drifted gently past the cracked window of the attic hideout, casting a pale glow over the wooden floor where Chopper lay curled against a worn blanket. His breath came in soft, uneven patterns, eyes barely open, clinging to the hope that maybe—just maybe—no one had followed him. He nestled deeper into the worn fabric, tail twitching with tension, the satchel clutched against his chest like a lifeline. The stillness of the room comforted him, but it couldn't silence the echo of Luffy's voice repeating in his mind.
The door creaked.
Chopper jolted upright. His heart pounded as he scrambled to his hooves, gripping the satchel tightly. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed and one brow raised, was Dr. Kureha. Snow clung to her shoulders, melting into droplets that trailed down her heavy coat, soaking into the wooden floor.
"So this is where you've been hiding," she said, unimpressed.
"I-I wasn't hiding," Chopper lied quickly, ears twitching, his voice shaky. He tried to make himself smaller, to vanish in the narrow space between the blankets and the wall.
Kureha stepped inside, her boots thudding heavily on the wooden floor. "Still scared of a little kindness, are you?" Her tone was sharp, but her eyes held a flicker of concern beneath the coldness. She looked around the cramped space with a sigh, taking in the books, the scattered notes, the blanket nest. "For someone with antlers, you sure like to live like a mouse."
Chopper opened his mouth to reply but stopped short when she raised a hand. It wasn't a gesture of threat, but it silenced him just as effectively.
"Nami's fever is down, but she's not out of danger yet," Kureha said, her tone brisk and efficient. "We still need the feverweed tonic from the storeroom. Since you're clearly well enough to sulk, you're well enough to carry medicine."
Chopper looked away, ashamed. "But… what if they're just pretending to be nice?"
"Then let them pretend," Kureha snapped, voice echoing off the sloped wooden ceiling. "But you do your job. That's what being a doctor means. Helping, even if you're scared. Even if it hurts."
He hesitated. The memory of Luffy's voice from earlier—You're not a monster—echoed in his mind. His hooves shifted uneasily.
"Do you think Hiriluk would've run away from someone who needed help?" Kureha added more quietly, her tone softening. "You know what he believed in."
Chopper's shoulders tensed. That name alone was enough. He slowly, reluctantly, grabbed his satchel and moved toward the stairs, ears low and tail dragging.
Down in the infirmary, Sanji stirred with a groan, shifting under the blankets as sunlight crept through the frost-covered windows. His ankle throbbed, but the pain was duller now, a sign of healing. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and yawned.
Kureha leaned over him, inspecting the bandages with clinical efficiency. Her fingers were firm but not unkind.
"You're lucky it wasn't fractured," she muttered. "Next time, try not to tumble off a cliff, cookboy."
Sanji smirked weakly, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. "Thanks, Doc. Appreciate the tender care. You got a softer touch than you let on."
"Try saying that after I throw you back outside," she replied dryly, flicking his forehead with two fingers before turning away.
Across the room, Luffy sat cross-legged on his bed, arms behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were sharp—focused. His mind wasn't on the ceiling or the bandages or the cold. He was thinking about the reindeer with the trembling voice.
He replayed Chopper's reaction over and over in his mind—the fear, the confusion, the disbelief in his eyes. It wasn't anger or defiance. It was pain. Deep pain.
Kureha turned to him. "Still sore?"
"Nope," he replied simply. "Just wondering when I'll see the reindeer again."
She snorted, half amused. "You'll see him if he lets you." She handed Sanji a warm bowl of porridge, steam rising gently in the chill air, and turned back toward the door.
"If you want him, you'd better convince him yourself," she added without looking back, her voice trailing into the hallway.
Later that afternoon, the castle had quieted. Footsteps were softer, the storm had finally passed, and the halls echoed with calm and muffled murmurs. Fires crackled gently in hearths along the corridor, casting orange reflections on the stone walls. The scent of burning pine and heated wood filled the air.
Luffy slipped out of the infirmary while Sanji slept and Kureha was elsewhere. His steps were light but purposeful. He moved through the corridors with casual ease, hands in his pockets, ears attuned to the castle's quiet rhythms. Then he heard it—the familiar sound of hooves clicking softly against stone.
Rounding the corner, he spotted Chopper walking slowly with a bundle of bottles nestled in a cloth, his head low, hooves measured and careful. Chopper's breath was visible in the cold air, and his movements were stiff, as if every step was a decision.
Luffy didn't say anything at first. He simply walked beside him, matching his pace without effort.
Chopper noticed immediately and stiffened. "W-what are you doing?" he asked without turning his head.
Luffy shrugged. "Nothing. Just walking." His voice was light, sincere, free of pressure. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets.
They walked a few more paces in silence, their footfalls the only sound. The castle seemed to hold its breath with them.
Then, Luffy looked over and said, "You're not a monster. You're a doctor."
Chopper froze in place. His eyes widened, and his hooves trembled slightly. The bottles in his arms rattled softly. He stared at the medicine he held as if seeing it for the first time. His grip tightened.
The words echoed louder than any he'd heard before—so simple, yet so true it shook him.
He didn't reply.
He couldn't.
But deep in his chest, something warm stirred. A small part of him—buried beneath years of rejection—wanted to believe.
To be continued...
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