CHAPTER 81 – While the World Rewrites Itself
Sunny POV
Waking up usually felt like booting up a supercomputer.
Every morning for the past few months, my eyes would snap open, and before I even saw the wooden ceiling of the Merry's cabin, I would be flooded with data. System alerts. Haki reserves. Enemy proximity scans from Stockfish. Snarky "Good morning, idiot" commentary from Ego. It was a cacophony of power, a constant, reassuring hum that reminded me I was the predator, and the Grand Line was just a fishbowl.
Today, I woke up to silence.
Absolute, hollow, terrifying silence.
I stared at the ceiling. The wood grain was just wood. The air was just air. There were no blue boxes floating in my peripheral vision. No tactical overlays highlighting the structural integrity of the mast. No sarcastic greeting.
"Arbitria?" I whispered. My voice sounded loud in the small room, raspy and dry.
Nothing.
"Aletheia? Vespera?"
Silence.
I sat up, and the world tilted.
It wasn't the ship rolling on a wave. It was me. My head swam, a wave of vertigo crashing over me so hard I had to grip the edge of the hammock to stop from falling out. My hands were shaking. Not a little tremored excitement, but a deep, muscular weakness that rattled my bones.
I tried to summon the Haki Core. Last time, it was effortless—a thought, and the blue sun would flare to life in my chest.
I pushed.
It felt like trying to lift a boulder with a sewing thread.
Somewhere deep inside me, buried under layers of heavy, spiritual fog, I felt a dull thrum. The Core was there. It wasn't dead. But it was dormant. It was locked down, wrapped in a cocoon of such dense, impenetrable energy that I couldn't draw a single drop from it.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and my feet hit the floor. My knees buckled. I caught myself on the desk, gasping for air.
I'm weak.
The realization hit me harder than any punch Garp could throw.
I wasn't helpless. I could feel my base strength—the muscle I'd built, the natural agility. If a standard Marine Captain walked in here, I could probably take him. Maybe even a lower-tier Vice Admiral if I got lucky. I could still beat a Warlord like Crocodile, probably.
But "probably" was a word I hadn't used in a long time.
Yesterday, I was a god tearing a hole in the dimension to negotiate with the universe. Today, I was… human. Just a guy. A guy who felt like he'd been run over by a Sea King and then chewed on for good measure.
I looked at the mirror bolted to the wall. I needed to see the damage.
The face staring back at me was pale. Dark circles hung under my eyes like bruises. But I didn't look at those.
I looked at the fracture.
It started at the corner of my left eye—a jagged, lightning-bolt fissure that ran down my cheekbone, cut across the sharp line of my jaw, and disappeared under the collar of my shirt.
I reached up, my fingers trembling, and touched it.
I expected it to hurt. I expected it to feel like a scab, or a burn.
It felt like glass.
Cold. Perfectly smooth. Unyielding.
It didn't feel like skin anymore. It felt like I was touching the surface of a frozen lake. And when I pressed a little harder, I felt a faint, rhythmic pulse against my fingertip. It wasn't a heartbeat. It was slower. Heavier.
Thrum... Thrum... Thrum...
It was the pulse of the World, beating inside my face.
The door to the cabin creaked open.
I froze, hand still on my cheek.
Nami stood there.
She looked like she hadn't slept in a week, even though it had only been one night. Her hair was a mess, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She was holding a damp cloth, probably coming to check on me while I slept.
She dropped the cloth. It hit the floor with a wet plap.
"Sunny," she breathed.
She didn't rush to me. She didn't yell. She just stared at my face. Her eyes locked onto the fracture, and I saw her pupils dilate. Fear. Pure, unadulterated horror. Not at the ugliness of it—it wasn't ugly, in a haunting way—but at what it represented.
She took a step forward. Then another. Her movements were jerky, hesitant, like she was approaching a bomb that had already gone off.
"Hey, Navigator," I croaked, trying to summon a smirk. I wanted to say something smooth. 'Like the new look? thought I'd try something edgy.'
But the smirk didn't come. My face felt too stiff.
Nami reached me. Her hands hovered over my face for a second, shaking violently, before she finally, gently, laid her palm against my cheek. Her thumb brushed over the cold, glass-like texture of the fracture.
She flinched. The temperature difference must have been shocking.
"It's cold," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Sunny, it's… it's freezing."
"It's fine," I lied. "Just a scratch. A cosmic scratch."
"Shut up," she hissed. There was no heat in it, only desperation. Her fingers traced the line down to my jaw, her touch so light it ghosted over my skin. "You stopped moving. Yesterday. After the light… you just fell. You weren't breathing for a minute. Do you know that? You just stopped."
"I'm back now," I murmured, leaning into her touch because, god, I needed the anchor. The coldness of the mark made her hand feel like a furnace.
"You're not," she said, her eyes finally meeting mine. They were fierce, wet, and angry. "You're freezing. You're shaking. And this…" She tapped the fracture, her nail clicking against it like it was striking ceramic. "This isn't you. This is… something else."
She grabbed the front of my shirt, bunching the fabric in her fists, and pulled me down slightly. It wasn't a romantic pull; it was a demand for proximity.
"Don't you ever," she choked out, tears finally spilling over, hot tracks running down her face, "do something that breaks you like this again. I don't care about the power. I don't care about the safety. I don't want a god, Sunny. I want the idiot who steals my tangerines."
I wrapped my arms around her. I felt weak. My grip wasn't the iron vice it usually was. But I held on.
"I'm here, Nami," I whispered into her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
But as I said it, looking over her shoulder at the empty air where my interface usually floated, I knew it was only a half-truth. I was here. But the part of me that made me Sunny—the power, the voices, the certainty—was gone.
Getting out onto the deck was a production.
Nami practically carried me, her shoulder wedged under my arm, refusing to let me walk on my own. I wanted to protest, to say 'I'm fine, I can walk,' but the truth was, I wasn't sure I could make it up the stairs without stumbling. And stumbling in front of the crew right now? That wasn't an option.
When we emerged into the sunlight, the deck of the Merry went silent.
It was a beautiful morning. The sea was calm, the sky was that impossible, heartbreaking blue of the Grand Line. But on the ship, the atmosphere was suffocating.
They were all there. Waiting.
Aqua was the first to move.
She was sitting on the railing, swinging her legs, staring at the water. When she heard us, she spun around. Her face lit up for a fraction of a second, the reflex of a goddess seeing her favorite toy, before her eyes landed on the left side of my face.
The smile died. It didn't fade; it was deleted.
She hopped down, her raiment fluttering. She didn't run. She walked over, her steps unusually heavy. She stopped right in front of me, ignoring Nami.
"You look terrible," she said bluntly.
"Thanks, Aqua," I managed a dry chuckle. "You always know what to say."
She didn't laugh. She reached out and poked my chest. Not playfully. Hard.
"You feel… empty," she whispered. Her blue eyes, usually pools of infinite stupidity and joy, were dark with something ancient. "The noise around you is gone. The hum. It's just… quiet."
She pressed her forehead against my chest, right over my heart. I could feel her trembling.
"I hate it when gods can't fix things," she mumbled into my shirt. "I'm a goddess. I should be able to just… woosh and fix the crack. But I look at it, and it scares me. It feels like the rules of the world, Sunny. I can't break the rules. I'm just water."
"Water is enough," I said, resting my hand on her head. "You're plenty."
"I'm praying," she said, pulling back to look at me. "To myself. And to Eris. And to anyone who listens. I'm praying you don't break the rest of the way."
I stared at her. Aqua, the useless goddess, praying for me. That hit harder than the weakness in my legs.
"Bell-mère would have smacked you."
The voice came from the side. Nojiko was leaning against the cabin wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn't crying. She looked furious. Her posture was rigid, her jaw set tight.
She walked over, pushing past Aqua. She didn't touch the fracture. She didn't even look at it directly, as if acknowledging it would give it power. She looked me dead in the eyes.
"She would have smacked you so hard your head would have spun," Nojiko said, her voice steady but tight as a bowstring. "And then she would have grounded you for a year."
"Good thing she's not here then," I tried.
Nojiko's eyes softened, just a fraction. "Yeah. Good thing." She reached out and adjusted my collar, her knuckles brushing against my neck. Her hand was warm, grounding. "Sit down. I made soup. It's the only thing you're going to be able to eat without looking pathetic."
"I'm not pacamaraderie
"You're shaking, Sunny," she cut me off. "Sit. Down."
I sat.
Then came the blur.
Lucy.
I didn't see her coming. One second I was sitting on the bench Nojiko pointed to, the next, a rubber arm was wrapped around my midsection four times, and a head was buried in my neck.
"Lucy—" I wheezed. "Ribs. Fragile."
She loosened her grip instantly, but she didn't let go. She pulled back, her face inches from mine.
Lucy "normally" didn't do complex emotions well. She did hunger, she did anger, she did joy. But this? This was confusion.
She poked my arm.
"Squishy," she muttered. "You feel… squishy. Like normal people."
"Hey!" I protested weakly.
She looked at the fracture. Unlike the others, she didn't look scared. She looked… dark. Her pupils constricted, that terrifying blank look she sometimes got when someone threatened her hat or her food.
"Who did it?" she asked. Her voice was flat.
"Nobody, Lucy. I did it. To get stronger."
"It makes you look weak," she said. Simple. Brutal. "I don't like it."
Then, a smile spread across her face. It wasn't her usual D-clan grin. It was sharp. Possessive. A little bit broken.
"It's okay," she chirped, the tone jarringly cheerful. "If Sunny is weak today, Lucy is strong today! I'll just beat up everyone! If anyone looks at the crack, I'll punch them! If the wind blows too hard, I'll punch the wind!"
She hugged me again, gentler this time, but with a terrifying intensity.
"I'll protect you," she whispered. "Nobody touches Sunny."
A cold sweat broke out on my back. Having a Monkey D. Lucy in yandere-protection mode was safer than a fortress and scarier than a Buster Call.
"Princess," I said, looking over Lucy's rubber shoulder.
Vivi was standing near the mast. She looked pale, her hands clasped in front of her so tight her knuckles were white. She looked like she was about to face a firing squad.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "This is my fault. If I hadn't asked you to come to Alabasta… if I hadn't dragged you into this war… you wouldn't have had to push so hard. You wouldn't be…" She gestured helplessly at my face.
"Stop," I said. My voice was quiet, but I put a little bit of the old command into it. "Vivi. Come here."
She walked over, her steps slow.
"Listen to me," I said, catching her hand. "I didn't do this for sand. I didn't do this for a kingdom. I did this because I wanted to. Because I made a promise to a girl that we'd go on a date after this mess. And I don't break date promises."
She sniffed, a tear escaping. "You're an idiot."
"I'm a charming idiot with a cool scar," I corrected. "We're still on for that date. Don't think you can get out of it just because I'm a little cracked."
She squeezed my hand, hard. The guilt didn't vanish, but it was replaced by a steely resolve. She nodded, wiping her eyes.
Then there was Robin.
She had been standing in the back, silent, observing. She walked forward now, her movements graceful, calm. The historian.
She stopped in front of me. She didn't ask if I was okay. She raised her hand and, very deliberately, touched the fracture.
Her fingers were cool. She traced the line of it like she was reading a Poneglyph.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked softly.
"A mistake?" I offered.
"A receipt," she corrected. "History is full of men who sought power, Sunny. Most of them are dust. But a few… a few touched the source of things. They bear marks. Not scars. Signatures."
She leaned in, her dark eyes searching mine.
"The World Voice touched you," she whispered, low enough that only I could hear. "And it left a door open. History remembers people with these marks. Usually… the world isn't kind to them."
"I've never been one for kindness," I muttered.
"No," she agreed, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "But you are truthful. This mark… it is the most honest thing about you right now." She dropped her hand, but stayed close, standing just behind my shoulder like a shadow.
And then, a small weight settled on my lap.
I looked down.
Merry.
The little spirit was solid enough to touch today. She was wearing her little raincoat, shivering. She looked up at me with wide, watery eyes.
"Captain?" she squeaked. "Did I shake too hard? Was the ride too bumpy? Is that why you broke?"
My heart actually cracked.
"No, Merry," I said, wrapping my arms around the small spirit. She felt warm, like sun-baked wood. "You were perfect. You held me up. This is just… the price of the ticket."
"I can feel you," she whispered. "You feel quiet. Usually, you feel like a storm. Now you feel like… a calm sea."
"Calm is good sometimes," I reassured her. "It means we can rest."
"Okay," she whispered, snuggling into my chest. "I'll float extra smooth. So you don't break more."
"OI! IS ANYONE GOING TO GET THESE WOMEN OFF ME OR AM I GOING TO DIE OF ASPHYXIATION AND BLISS?!"
The shout shattered the melancholy.
We all turned.
Sanji was still there. Or rather, a pile of expensive fabric and limbs was there. He had been trampled in the initial panic and, apparently, forgotten.
Nami rolled her eyes, but the ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Oh, right. The Cook."
It took a few minutes to extract him. When Sanji finally emerged, he was a mess. His suit was rumpled, he had a boot print on his forehead, and he looked like he'd been through a spin cycle.
He dusted himself off, straightened his tie, and then turned to me.
He opened his mouth to yell. Probably something about being stepped on.
Then he saw my face.
The cigarette fell out of his mouth.
Sanji froze. His visible eye widened. He scanned me—the shaking hands, the pallor, the fracture.
"You look like shit," he said. His voice was flat, lacking all its usual melodramatic flair.
"Rough night," I said.
Sanji didn't say anything else. He turned on his heel and marched toward the galley.
"I'm making stew," he barked over his shoulder. "Restorative broth. High calorie. Don't you dare die before I serve it, you shitty Blue eye freak."
It was the most aggressive declaration of concerned I'd ever heard.
I looked around for the others.
Usopp was hiding behind the main mast, peeking out. When he saw me looking, he gave a shaky thumbs up.
"I—I knew you'd be fine!" he stammered, his voice two octaves too high. "I wasn't worried! I was just… strategically observing from a safe distance! Just in case the sky fell again!
He was lying through his teeth, his knees knocking together, but he forced a brave smile.
And then there was Zoro.
He was sitting against the railing on the far side of the deck, Wado Ichimonji across his lap. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at his hands.
"Zoro," I called out.
He didn't look up. "Yo."
"You good?"
Silence.
He slowly lifted his head. His eyes were hard. Not angry at me. Angry at the universe.
"You good?" I repeated.
"No," he said. Short. Sharp. "I'm pissed."
"At me?"
"At myself," he grunted. He gripped the scabbard of his sword so hard the wood creaked. "I couldn't move. Yesterday. When you let that… thing out. I couldn't move a muscle. I thought I was getting stronger. I thought I was close."
He spat on the deck.
"I couldn't even draw my sword. While you were tearing the sky open, I was just furniture."
He stood up, sliding his sword into his sash with a violent click.
"Don't expect me to pity you because you're weak today, Sunny," he growled. "Because I saw what you really are. And I have a hell of a lot of catching up to do."
He walked off toward the training room/gym. The door slammed shut behind him.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"He'll be fine," Nami said softly.
"Yeah," I agreed. "He just found a new mountain to climb."
Dinner was… quiet.
Usually, dinner on the Merry was a war zone. Luffy stealing meat, Usopp telling lies, Sanji kicking people, Nami shouting about manners.
Tonight, the only sound was the clinking of silverware against ceramic.
Sanji had made a rich, hearty stew. He placed a bowl in front of me that was twice the size of everyone else's. He didn't say a word, just slammed it down and lit a cigarette.
I picked up my spoon. My hand trembled. Just a little. A tiny, weakness-induced shake.
Immediately, three things happened.
Nami nudged her water glass closer to my hand so I wouldn't have to reach.
Nojiko pushed the bread basket directly under my nose.
Lucy stopped eating—mid-chew—and watched my spoon until it reached my mouth.
I ate. It was delicious. Warm, savory, grounding.
"It's good, Sanji," I said.
"Eat it all," he muttered, staring at the wall. "You need the protein."
I laughed. A small, genuine chuckle.
And that's when it happened.
As I laughed, a faint hum resonated through the room. The fracture on my face pulsed.
It glowed. Not bright, but a soft, eerie white light that shone through the skin like a bioluminescent vein.
The table went dead silent.
Everyone stared.
The light pulsed again, in time with the residue of my laughter.
Thrum. Thrum.
It was a reminder. I was sitting here, eating stew, joking with my friends. But I was branded. I was unfinished business.
I cleared my throat, and the glow faded back to the dull, glass-like reflection.
"Sorry," I muttered. "Glow stick mode. Still figuring out the settings."
Nobody laughed.
Lucy reached over and grabbed my hand. Her grip was tight.
We finished the meal in silence.
Later that night, I sat alone on the figurehead of the Merry.
The girls were asleep, or pretending to be. I knew Nami was watching from the window. I knew Robin was listening from the deck chair.
I looked out at the dark ocean.
Inside me, far deeper than my physical weakness, I felt… something.
It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a system notification.
It was a sensation of heavy, massive construction.
It felt like giant gears turning in the void of my soul. I closed my eyes and focused on the silence where Arbitria, Aletheia, and Vespera used to be.
They weren't gone. They were working.
I could feel the pressure of it. They were taking the raw, chaotic energy of my determination and help of the Voice of the World—accessed through this crack in my face—and they were weaving. Synthesizing.
My Unique Skills… Determination-Driven Growth, Core Administrator, Grandmaster's Intuition.
They were being broken down, melted in the forge of the World's authority, and hammered into something new.
I touched the fracture on my face again.
Thrum.
A response.
It wasn't a word. It was a feeling of acknowledgment. A signal from the construction crew inside my soul saying, 'We are building. Wait.'
They were carrying the weight of godhood for me, because my body was too weak to hold it. They were building a throne so I wouldn't have to stand on the edge of the abyss forever.
I looked up at the moon.
I was weak. I was scarred. My crew was terrified.
But as I felt that massive, silent machinery turning inside my spirit, I knew one thing.
When they finished… when the construction was done and the voices returned…
I wouldn't just be strong. I would be absolute.
"Take your time, girls," I whispered to the silence inside my head. "Make it a masterpiece."
I traced the glass-cold line on my cheek one last time.
Whatever they're building… I better be worthy of it.