The first sensation was a dull ache, a distant echo of unimaginable pain. Then, a profound, bone-deep weariness. Gunnar's eyelids, heavy as lead, fluttered. The light was soft, filtered, the air carrying the familiar scent of salt, wood, and something faintly antiseptic. He was on the Moby Dick.
Years. That was the first coherent thought. It felt like years had passed in a blink, a long, dark, dreamless void. He tried to move, and to his utter astonishment, his limbs responded. Not with the agonizing slowness and pain he vaguely remembered, but with a newfound, unfamiliar ease. He sat up, the sheets rustling. His hair, a cascade of vibrant crimson and stark white, tumbled around his shoulders, reaching almost to his waist. He felt… taller. Stronger.
His gaze fell upon a figure slumped beside his bed, head resting on the edge of the mattress, fast asleep. Long, pale hair, tinged with a hint of lilac, obscured her face, but he knew that silhouette, that formidable presence, even in slumber. Smoothie.
A strange warmth, unexpected and unsettling, spread through his chest. He remembered flashes – the collapsing island, Akainu's molten fury, her cry of his name, the impossible surge of power, then… nothing. Why was she here? Sleeping by his bedside?
He slowly, carefully, swung his legs over the edge of the cot. His feet touched the cool wooden floor. He stood, a little unsteadily at first, then with growing confidence. The chronic weakness, the lingering paralysis that had plagued him since Ikki, the debilitating after-effects of his first uncontrolled transformation… they were gone. He felt… whole. Healthy. An unfamiliar surge of vitality coursed through him.
He caught his reflection in a polished metal panel on the opposite wall, a makeshift mirror. The boy who stared back was a stranger, yet intimately familiar. Thirteen, no, older now, perhaps closer to Eighteen or Nineteen. The childish roundness of his face had sharpened, revealing high cheekbones and a strong jawline that echoed his father's, yet possessed a finer, almost aristocratic, elegance. His crimson and white hair framed a face that was strikingly handsome, his golden eyes, clear and sharp, holding an unnerving, ancient wisdom. The dormant veins on his arms were now intricate, almost beautiful patterns of scarlet and cerulean, no longer glowing with uncontrolled power, but integrated, a part of him. He looked… powerful. The experiements along with Titan Titan fruit had finally settled, had found their balance within him.
He was still looking at his reflection when he heard a soft groan from the bedside.
Smoothie stirred, her brow furrowing in her sleep. Then, her eyes, the color of amethysts, slowly opened. They blinked, unfocused for a moment, then widened almost imperceptibly as they landed on him. Standing. Awake.
Gunnar turned, a slow, almost lazy smile touching his lips – a smile that held a hint of his father's confidence, but also a touch of something colder, more calculating, self-assured power.
"Yo," he said, his voice deeper than he remembered, smooth and resonant. "Probably been a long while."
Smoothie sat bolt upright, her usual regal composure momentarily shattered. She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape, her mind struggling to reconcile the broken, burned boy she had watched over for so long with the composed, powerful young man standing before her.
"You…" she began, then stopped, clearing her throat, a faint blush rising on her cheeks that she quickly suppressed. "You're… awake." Her voice was a mixture of disbelief and something else… relief? She quickly schooled her features back into their usual cool impassivity. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course, you're awake. Took you long enough, slacker."
Gunnar chuckled, a low, confident sound. "My apologies for the extended nap. The accommodations were… surprisingly comfortable." He gestured vaguely around the infirmary.
"Comfortable?" Smoothie scoffed, though her eyes still held a trace of that initial shock. "You were practically a corpse for the first year! Marco almost gave up! The only reason you're not fish food is because that ridiculous phoenix fire of his is apparently more stubborn than you are." She folded her arms, deliberately looking away, towards the porthole. "And don't think I stayed here out of… concern. Someone had to make sure Whitebeard's precious blood-son didn't keel over and spoil Mama's… political investments."
"Ah, yes. The investments," Gunnar said, his smile not faltering. He walked closer, his movements fluid and assured. He stopped beside her, looking down. The height difference was still there, but it was less pronounced now. He was no longer a child she towered over, but a young man meeting her gaze almost on equal terms. "And did my extended convalescence bore you terribly, wife?" There was a teasing lilt to his voice, a confidence that was entirely new, and undeniably alluring.
Smoothie's head snapped back, her amethyst eyes narrowed. "Don't get any ideas, boy. Your… recovery… changes nothing. We are still what we are."
"And what is that, exactly?" Gunnar asked, his golden eyes glinting. "Enemies bound by a ridiculous pact? Or perhaps… something a little more interesting?" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you miss my charming company?"
"As if!" Smoothie snapped, pushing herself to her feet, putting a little distance between them. But her heart was hammering against her ribs, a traitorous, unfamiliar rhythm. This was not the broken child she had reluctantly guarded. This was… different. The raw charm he now exuded, even in stillness, was undeniable. And that smile… it was infuriatingly captivating. "I merely ensured the asset remained viable. Mama would be displeased otherwise."
"Of course," Gunnar said, his smile widening. "Purely business." He looked around the small infirmary room, then back at her. "So, tell me, Smoothie. While I was enjoying my beauty sleep, did the world end? Or did my father manage to keep it spinning without my invaluable assistance?"
Gunnar stretched, the unfamiliar sensation of healthy, responsive muscles a novel delight. He'd been so focused on his reflection, on Smoothie, he hadn't quite registered his attire. Or rather, lack thereof. He was, in fact, completely naked, the infirmary sheets pooled around his ankles.
Smoothie, who had been trying to maintain her aloof composure, couldn't help the way her gaze flickered down his newly healed, well-defined physique, then quickly back up, a deeper blush now undeniably staining her cheeks. The scars from Akainu's magma were gone, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin, save for the intricate, now subtly glowing patterns of the scarlet and cerulean veins on his arms. He was… undeniably striking.
Gunnar, noticing her gaze, and her blush, merely raised an eyebrow, a hint of that smirk playing on his lips. "Something amiss, wife? Did my nap leave me… unsuitably attired for polite conversation?"
"You're… you're indecent!" Smoothie sputtered, finally finding her voice, though it was a few octaves higher than usual. She quickly turned away, her back rigid. "And don't call me 'wife' in that… that tone!"
"My apologies," Gunnar said, though he didn't sound particularly apologetic. He glanced down at himself, then shrugged. "A minor oversight. The body feels… new. Reborn, one might say." He took a step towards the door.
"Where do you think you're going?!" Smoothie demanded, still facing away. "Get some clothes on, you… you exhibitionist!"
"Later, perhaps," Gunnar replied nonchalantly. "First, I believe some fresh air is in order. And an update on worldly affairs." He spotted a discarded cigar and a lighter on a nearby table – likely left by one of the visiting commanders. With a smooth, practiced motion that spoke of an ingrained, almost instinctual confidence, he picked them up.
"Gunnar! Don't you dare—!"
He ignored her, deftly lighting the cigar, the tip glowing cherry red. He took a long, slow drag, then exhaled a perfect smoke ring, a look of profound, almost sinful, satisfaction on his handsome face. "Ah. Much better."
And then, still completely naked, cigarillo held casually between his fingers, he strode out of the infirmary and onto the sun-drenched deck of the Moby Dick.
The effect was instantaneous and dramatic.
Pirates, engaged in their morning routines, froze mid-motion. Jaws dropped. Mugs of grog clattered to the deck. A startled squid, being used as a makeshift mop by Haruta, slipped from his grasp.
Then, a ripple of hushed whispers, followed by a growing murmur of disbelief and dawning recognition.
"Is… is that…?"
"Gunnar-sama?"
"He's… awake! And… naked!"
Gunnar, seemingly oblivious to the stares, or perhaps reveling in them, took another leisurely puff of his cigar, the smoke curling lazily in the sea breeze. He strolled across the deck, his newfound strength evident in his fluid, confident gait. He felt… good. Free. The years of weakness, of being a burden, had been shed like an old skin.
He passed a group of pirates who were staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He gave them a nonchalant nod. "Morning, brothers. Lovely day, isn't it?"
The "brothers" could only stammer in reply.
He made his way towards the stern, where Whitebeard sat on his throne. The Emperor, though still bearing the marks of his illness, looked up, his golden eyes widening in stunned disbelief, then crinkling at the corners as a slow, incredulous grin spread across his face.
Near Whitebeard, chained loosely to the mast but looking more defiant than defeated, was a young man with fiery black hair, freckles dusting his nose, and a look of perpetual, simmering anger. Portgas D. Ace. He had, in the years Gunnar had slept, indeed found Whitebeard, challenged him, lost, and been… reluctantly "adopted" onto the crew, though he still spent most of his days trying to assassinate the old man.
Ace stared at Gunnar, first with confusion, then with a growing, indignant scowl. "Oi! Who the hell is this naked weirdo?! And why is everyone just… staring?!"
Whitebeard let out a booming "GURARARARA!" that shook the entire ship, a laugh filled with pure, unadulterated joy and a healthy dose of amusement. "That, my fiery young fool," he rumbled, his voice thick with emotion, "is your brother. One who has been asleep for a very, very long time."
One of them looked at Gunnar, his eyes shining. "Our brother, Gunnar. Pops only blood son."
Then, as if a signal had been given, the entire Whitebeard crew erupted.
In a deafening, joyous roar. Pistols were drawn, to fire celebratory volleys into the clear blue sky. Cannons boomed. Pirates cheered, wept, and embraced.
Gunnar stood amidst it all, a small, confident smile on his lips, taking another drag from his cigar, thoroughly enjoying the chaos he had unwittingly (or perhaps, not so unwittingly) unleashed. This was his family. This was home.
Just then, Smoothie burst onto the deck, her face a mask of exasperation and mortification. In her hands, she clutched a large, hastily grabbed towel. She marched directly towards Gunnar, ignoring the cheering pirates and the booming laughter of Whitebeard.
"You… you absolute… heathen!" she hissed, her cheeks flaming. She deftly wrapped the towel around his thighs, securing it with a firm tug. Then, with a swiftness that surprised him, she plucked the cigar from his fingers and ground it out under her heel. "Have you no shame?!"
Gunnar just looked at her, an amused glint in his golden eyes. "Perhaps a little, wife. But the air felt so… liberating."
Smoothie huffed, but there was a distinct lack of her usual icy fury. Her gaze softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at him, truly looked at him, standing there, whole and vibrant, amidst the joyous chaos of his family.
Gunnar, his impromptu parade over, turned his gaze back to his father, his smile genuine and warm. The years of sleep, the pain, the uncertainty – it all faded. He was back. And it felt good to be home.
[A/N: Now the Main Story Starts. He is finally of Age. I am still deciding on his personality, and How I should proceed from here. A few Chapters will be kinda like experiements.
If you have any recommendation for anything, Please leave so. I would be happy to reply to them, and even add those.
Also, No more Coma, No more timeskips for a long time now. He is just the age I wanted him to be. Now, All Hell will break loose.]