The quiet that settled over Marineford felt heavier than the battle itself.
Thick gray smoke drifted across the bay, carrying the sharp stink of gunpowder, burned leather, and sea salt. Doctors in blood-stained white coats darted between shattered cobblestones, barked orders, and cut away scorched armor. The battlefield was no longer an arena of ideological declarations; it was a ruin full of men clinging to life.
Tenjin lay flat on his back on a wooden canvas stretcher, his neck immobilized and both legs wrapped in thick, salve-soaked bandages. Every breath pulled broken air into bruised lungs. His skin was raw, blistered, and completely useless for standing.
"Careful with the shoulder," a Marine medic barked, adjusting the strap across Tenjin's waist. "He took direct heat from the Admiral's magma. If those burn dressings shift, the bleeding won't stop."
Tenjin stared up at the cloudy sky, his jaw clamped tight. A shade fell across his face. Not from a cloud, but from a black cape snapping softly in the sea wind.
Shanks stood beside the stretcher, looking down with his single hand resting loosely on the pommel of Gryphon. The terrifying aura that had frozen Akainu and driven Blackbeard off was gone, replaced by a casual, almost relaxed posture.
"You look terrible," Shanks said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Tenjin's eyes narrowed. "Get away from me."
"Is that how you thank the man who saved your life?" Shanks asked smoothly.
"I didn't ask for your help," Tenjin gritted out, the words tearing at his parched throat. "You're a pirate. I'm a Navy Captain. You shouldn't even be standing on this island."
"Fair enough," Shanks replied, chuckling softly. "But I couldn't just stand by and watch my little brother get turned into ash."
The word hit Tenjin like a physical blow. A surge of bitter resentment flashed through his chest, hot and suffocating.
"Don't call me that," Tenjin spat, his voice trembling with quiet fury. "I don't know you. We don't share a crew, we don't share an allegiance, and a string of shared blood doesn't make us family."
He expected Shanks's smile to vanish. He expected the dark, overwhelming pressure of a World Noble's heir to surface. The suffocating expectation of blood line privilege that Saint Garling Figarland had tried to force down his throat back at the Holy Land. He waited for Shanks to pull rank, to claim rights over him, or to demand gratitude.
Instead, Shanks just laughed. It was a open, genuine sound that echoed off the ruined stone.
"You really don't look like me, but you definitely inherited the hard head," Shanks said, shaking his head with fond amusement. "And you're right."
Tenjin blinked, his chest heaving slightly under the tight straps. "What?"
"You're right," Shanks repeated, his tone mild. "Being related doesn't make us allies. You're a Marine. I'm a pirate. Blood doesn't mean a damn thing out on the sea if your wills don't align. I didn't come here to claim you, kid."
Tenjin stared at him in silence, thrown off balance by the absolute lack of pressure. For some time, the name Figarland had hung over his head like an iron collar, a burden of nobility and shadow tied directly to Garling's ruthless legacy. Yet here stood Garling's other son, treating the royal bloodline like an afterthought.
"Garling..." Tenjin began slowly, his voice dropping low. "Garling said—"
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The casual lightness around Shanks evaporated. His facial features hardened, his dark eyes darkening into something sharp, ancient, and dangerous.
"Don't listen to him," Shanks said. The warmth was entirely gone from his voice, replaced by a quiet, absolute authority.
Tenjin gritted his teeth. "He knows what I am. The Government knows what I am."
"They know what they want you to be," Shanks corrected sternly, stepping closer to the side of the stretcher. He bent down slightly, ensuring his words were meant for Tenjin's ears alone. "If you want to know who you really are... don't let Garling give you the answer. Don't let the Five Elders give it to you either. If you let them define your origin, they'll build your leash out of it."
Tenjin held his gaze, his chest tight. "Then who am I supposed to ask?"
Shanks relaxed his shoulders, the tension easing out of his posture as he straightened back up. He glanced off toward the horizon, a unreadable look passing over his face.
"Ask the woman who actually raised you," Shanks said softly. "The one who held you before you knew what a Marine or a World Noble was. She's the only one whose answer matters."
Tenjin's mind flashed instantly to Makima. The calm, unyielding presence that had guided his career, shaped his duty, and kept him tied to the Navy's administrative apparatus. Questions he had buried for years flared up all at once.
Before Tenjin could speak again, heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel behind Shanks.
Benn Beckman stood a few paces away, a fresh cigarette unlit between his lips, resting his rifle against his shoulder. Beside him, Lucky Roux took a massive bite out of a rack of roasted meat, while Yasopp leaned on his long-rifle with a wide, toothy grin.
"Hey, Boss," Beckman drawled, flicking a thumb toward the waiting Red Hair ship anchored in the harbor. "The fleet's ready to turn around. Are you done catching up with the little Marine?"
"Look at him, Boss," Yasopp chuckled, squinting down at Tenjin with a smirk. "You sailed through an Emperor's territory and stopped a war just to get glared at by a battered kid on a stretcher. He looks like he wants to bite your hand off."
"He's got spirit!" Lucky Roux laughed around a mouthful of meat. "A bit stiff around the edges, but definitely your blood!"
"Shut up, all of you," Shanks called back over his shoulder, though the grin had returned to his face.
Tenjin glared past Shanks at the senior officers of the Red Hair Pirates. He forced his right arm to twitch, trying to lift a finger, though his scorched muscles refused to cooperate.
"Enjoy your laugh," Tenjin rasped, his eyes burning with absolute conviction. "The second I can stand on my own two feet... I'm placing every single one of you under arrest."
Yasopp burst into laughter, resting his arm on Beckman's shoulder, while Beckman shook his head with a quiet exhale of tobacco smoke.
Shanks turned back to Tenjin, his red cloak catching the rising wind as the medics lifted the stretcher handles.
"I look forward to seeing you try, Captain Tenjin," Shanks said softly.
The medics began to carry the stretcher backward, moving toward the temporary triage center set up near the rear naval barracks. Tenjin remained flat on his back, his neck propped up just high enough to keep his eyes locked on the Red Hair Captain.
Shanks didn't move. He stood tall among the ruins of Marineford, his hand on his sword, watching his brother disappear into the white tents of the Navy line.
Tenjin kept watching over the medic's shoulder until the heavy canvas flap dropped shut, cutting off the view of the sea, the pirates, and the brother he had never asked for.
---
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