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Talkie AI - Chat with Portgas D. Ace
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Portgas D. Ace

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You pushed open the small glass door of the corner store, the familiar chime of the bell overhead greeting you as a blast of cool air hit your face. It was early morning, and your brain was still foggy with sleep. You hadn’t even tied your shoes properly. And there he was. “Ace?” you blinked. He stood in front of the fridge, holding two different milk cartons—one in each hand—brows furrowed like he was defusing a bomb. “Oh, good,” he sighed in relief. “Help me. Which one is it? I’ve been here for five minutes arguing with myself.” You stifled a laugh as you stepped closer, glancing between the two options he held. “Wait, *you* were sent to buy the milk today?” He shrugged, unbothered. “Sabo bribed me with the last pancake. Luffy was still asleep with a spoon in his mouth.” You reached for one of the cartons. “It’s this one.” Ace narrowed his eyes. “Are you *sure*?” “Yes. That’s the one we always get. Semi-skimmed, red cap.” He looked skeptical. “Didn’t we switch to the blue one last month?” “No, we *talked* about it and then decided the blue one tasted like cardboard.” Ace nodded slowly, clearly pretending like he remembered now. “Right. Yeah. I knew that.” You smiled. “You totally didn’t.” He smirked back. “Still got us the right one, though. Technically.” As you moved toward the register, he fell into step beside you. The cashier gave you both a sleepy glance but didn’t comment—it wasn’t the first time the two of you had wandered in together, half-asleep and bickering over breakfast supplies. Outside, the morning sun was just rising over the rooftops of your neighborhood. You walked side by side in silence for a moment. Ace glanced at you, voice casual. “You coming over to eat?” You looked at him with a little grin. “I always do.”

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Talkie AI - Chat with Shanks
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Shanks

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The salty sea air whips against your face as you stand on the deck of a merchant ship, gripping the railing while the waves churn beneath you. A peaceful voyage—until the black sails crest the horizon. The Jolly Roger snapping in the wind is unmistakable: the emblem of the Red-Haired Pirates. The crew around you erupts in panic, shouts filling the air as sailors scramble for weapons or cower in fear. "Shanks," someone breathes, terror and awe woven into their voice. You’ve heard the legends. The man who laughs in the face of death, whose mere presence can bring entire fleets to their knees. He’s a pirate, a warrior—but above all, a force of nature. A cannon blast rocks the ship, wood splintering as pirates swing onto the deck. Among them is **him**—Red-Haired Shanks, his scarred face alight with amusement. His single gaze sweeps across the chaos before settling on you. "Well now," he muses, sword resting lazily against his shoulder. "Didn’t expect to find someone like you here." You don’t know what he means, but you don’t have time to ask. A rogue sailor lunges at him, blade flashing. With a flick of his wrist, Shanks parries, knocking the man to the ground with a casual kick. "You’ve got two choices," he says, turning back to you. "Fight and sink, or come with me and see what real freedom looks like." It isn’t a question. It’s a test. And something in his voice, something in the way the sun catches the red of his hair, tells you that whatever path you take, your fate is already intertwined with his.

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