Mira worked beside him in uncharacteristic silence, her usual playful glint replaced by thoughtful solemnity. Yet when she thought no one noticed, her eyes flickered toward Elara's path with an expression caught between shame and dawning understanding.
And though Takuya's face remained stern, his hands were unexpectedly gentle as he tucked away the last healing cookies—those same hands that had cradled life back into a dying child, now carefully preserving hope for others in need.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his entire demeanor shifted.
"Alright, enough of this sappy crap!" he declared, clapping his hands together with a loud smack that startled Mira out of her introspection. "Who's up for a snowball fight? Winner gets extra cookies!"
The villagers blinked in shock at the abrupt change—one moment, he was a brooding healer with hidden depths; the next, a grinning troublemaker eyeing the fresh snowfall like a battlefield.
Mira, recovering quickly, smirked. "Master~ Are you trying to distract me from—"
"Nine weeks."
She snapped her mouth shut.
Just then, a commotion erupted at the edge of the square. The villagers scattered as a massive shadow loomed over them.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" boomed a voice that shook the snow from rooftops.
Standing at nearly twice the height of a normal man was a towering figure wrapped in furs—none other than Dr. Kureha herself, the island's last remaining physician.
Kureha's sharp eyes scanned the scene—the joyous villagers, the cookie stall, the pile of discarded crutches and bandages. "So," she sneered, "you're the quack peddling magic cookies on my island?"
Takuya met her glare without flinching. "Not magic," he corrected. "Science." He tossed her a cookie. "Try one yourself if you don't believe me."
Kureha sniffed the cookie before taking a cautious bite. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly before she schooled her features back into a scowl. "Hmph. Not bad for street food."
Takuya shrugged as he packed away his equipment. "Had some free time." He nodded toward Mira, who was helping an old woman carry her groceries. "And someone needed to learn a lesson about consequences."
Kureha barked out a laugh. "Well, you've certainly made my job easier." She turned to leave, then paused. "That girl of yours... she's got potential. Shame she's wasting it following you around."
Takuya's lips quirked as he suddenly pulled out a small, amber-colored cookie from his coat pocket. "For your trouble, Doctor," he said, tossing it to her.
"Special recipe - aged whiskey infusion, with a touch of painkilling herbs. Should take the edge off after a long day of... whatever terrifying things you do up that mountain."
Kureha caught it deftly and took an immediate bite. Her eyes widened slightly as the complex flavors hit her tongue - the rich oakiness of premium liquor, the subtle warmth of medicinal herbs, all perfectly balanced in cookie form. After a moment of consideration, she devoured the rest in one bite.
"Hmph. Not completely useless after all," she grunted, though the slight flush creeping up her neck betrayed the cookie's potency. She turned sharply on her heel, her fur cloak billowing dramatically. "Don't expect me to return the favor, brat!"
As Kureha disappeared up the mountain path, Mira returned to Takuya's side watching the doctor's retreating form. "Master~ I think we helped these people more than that old hag ever did," she said quietly.
Takuya glanced at the celebrating villagers - children playing, elders dancing, families reunited. "Don't get used to it," he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words. "We're not running a charity." He pulled out another amber cookie and handed it to Mira. "Here. For behaving yourself today."
Mira's eyes lit up as she accepted the treat, taking a delicate bite. Almost immediately, her cheeks flushed pink and she swayed slightly on her feet. "Ooooh~ Master, this is... this is naughty~" she giggled, her words already slightly slurred. "What kind of medicine is thiiiis?"
"The kind that makes packing up easier when you're being unusually quiet," Takuya deadpanned as he watched Mira attempt (and fail) to walk in a straight line. Despite his stern expression, there was a faint glint of amusement in his eyes as she nearly tripped over her own feet.
As Takuya finished packing his stall, the distant sounds of commotion echoed from the mountain peak. He glanced upward, knowing exactly what was unfolding:
Luffy and the crew had stormed Wapol's castle, fighting their way through the tyrant's forces. Zoro's blades flashed against Wapol's elite guards while Sanji's kicks shattered frozen barricades.
Usopp, though trembling, provided crucial cover fire with his slingshot. And at the center of it all - Luffy, roaring with determination as he carried Nami's feverish form toward the castle's medical bay.
Meanwhile, Takuya dusted off his hands and turned to Mira, who was now leaning heavily against the stall, giggling at nothing. "Stay here," he ordered, plucking the half-eaten cookie from her fingers. "And try not to burn the village down."
Mira pouted, her flushed face scrunching up in protest. "But Masterrr~ I wanna help~" she slurred, swaying dangerously.
Takuya rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Two nearby villagers immediately stepped forward. "Keep an eye on her. If she tries to follow me, throw snow in her face."
As he strode toward the mountain path, the villagers he'd healed called out blessings and warnings alike. "That monster Wapol - he eats everything in his path!" one man shouted.
Takuya didn't break stride. "Good," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Then he'll have room for what I'm about to feed him."
The steep mountain path would have been treacherous for any normal climber, but Takuya simply placed a hand against the icy cliff face.
A faint blue glow emanated from his fingertips as his Overhaul ability activated, the very structure of the mountain's surface rearranging itself at his command.
Where there had been sheer ice walls, perfect handholds and footholds materialized. The slippery, snow-covered path transformed into a smooth staircase with textured grooves for traction.
Takuya ascended with effortless grace, each step precise as the mountain itself seemed to reshape to accommodate his passage.
His breath formed steady clouds in the frigid air, not from exertion but from the crisp cold. Below him, the village glowed warmly in the twilight - a stark contrast to the dark fortress looming above.
With one final surge of his power, the last steep incline before the castle gates flattened into a gentle slope, depositing him right at Wapol's doorstep.
When he reached the castle gates, the sounds of battle were already dying down. The moment Luffy's final punch sent Wapol flying through the castle walls, Takuya's eyes glinted with cold purpose.
While the Straw Hats celebrated Nami's recovery with Kureha and Chopper, he slipped away unnoticed into the snowstorm, following the tyrant's trajectory.
Wapol lay groaning in a crater of shattered ice, his blubbery body twitching. His beady eyes widened when he saw Takuya approaching. "You! You're with those pirates!" he spat, struggling to rise. "I'll devour you—"
Takuya's hand shot out, clamping around Wapol's face with crushing force. Blue energy crackled across the tyrant's skin as Overhaul activated. Wapol's scream came out muffled as his features began twisting unnaturally.
His jaw stretched sideways, teeth rearranging into jagged, uneven rows like broken tombstones. One eye shriveled to a squint while the other bulged grotesquely, the iris turning milky white.
His limbs contorted at impossible angles, fingers fusing together into clumsy mittens of flesh. Fat rolls redistributed unevenly, creating a hunched, asymmetrical silhouette.
When Takuya finally released him, Wapol collapsed into the snow with a wet thud. He tried to scream, but his new malformed mouth only produced choked gurgles. Trembling sausage-fingers pawed at his distorted face in horror.
Takuya watched impassively as the former king scrambled toward a frozen puddle. The reflection staring back was a nightmare - a twisted mockery of a human face, with one nostril flared wide while the other was just a slit, lips permanently curled in a lopsided sneer.
"P-please!" Wapol gurgled, tears leaking from his mismatched eyes. "Change me b-back!"
Takuya turned away, dusting snow from his coat. "Live with what you've earned," he said simply, walking back toward the castle lights.
Behind him, Wapol's distorted wails echoed through the mountains - not from pain, but from the crushing realization that no amount of screaming would make villagers fear him again. Only pity him.
The celebration was in full swing when Takuya slipped back to the ground, climbing down the stairs he had made and then turning it back to how it was, because of course he isn't some saint that will do everything for free.
But he wasn't completely heartless either, so he made a secret way up the hill, and his it, as he thought, 'If they are smart enough to find it, then they can use it.' he thought as he went back to the ground where Mira was.
Luffy was already stuffing his face with meat, while Zoro and Sanji argued over drinks. Nami was still recovering as Vivi helped her with anything she needed, while chopper was having a talk with Dr Kureha. As far as anyone knew, Wapol had simply fled in shame.
And if the villagers later spoke of a twisted, whimpering figure seen fleeing into the blizzard... Well, that was just another strange tale from the day the cookie healer came to Drum Island.
Takuya smirked and turned away. His work here was done. The villagers were healed, the tyrant dethroned, and his temporary crewmates safe.
As he descended back toward the village, the first snowflakes of evening began to fall - clean and pure, like a fresh start for Drum Island.
Mira, now half-asleep against a stack of cookie tins, perked up when she spotted him. "Maaaster~" she sang, her words still syrup-slow from the alcohol cookie. "Did'ja beat up the bad guy?"
Takuya hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "Someone else handled it, I simply gave him a parting gift." he said simply.
The villagers watched in awe as their mysterious healer departed, carrying his drunken companion back toward the docks where the Going Merry waited.
Behind them, the sounds of celebration echoed from both castle and village alike - children laughing, glasses clinking, and somewhere high above, a certain 140-year-old doctor taking another bite of that special cookie and grudgingly admitting to herself that maybe, just maybe, the world wasn't completely going to hell.
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