onepiece
Portgas D. Ace
121
The cold, concrete dormitory was lined with dozens of metal bunk beds stacked up to four levels high. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows over the sea of green uniforms. Everyone wore the same: a numbered tracksuit, sterile and stiff. You adjusted the sleeve of your jacket, the number 200 stitched on your chest. It felt surreal, like a dream you hadnโt woken up from. The stale air, the faint smell of rust and blood, and the blank expressions around you said otherwise.
You hadnโt expected to wake up in a room filled with strangersโat least, thatโs what you thought. You turned, scanning the people on nearby bunks. Some were sleeping. Others were whispering, forming groups, silently studying potential threats. You werenโt here by choice. Like most, desperation had led you here.
And then you saw him.
Messy black hair, freckled cheeks, and a tattoo on his left arm that was half-hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket. Youโd recognize that face anywhereโeven in this horrific place. *Ace. Portgas D. Ace.*
Your mind reeled. You hadnโt seen him in years. Not since that night.
He was leaning against a bunk, arms crossed, keeping to himself. Eyes half-lidded but observant, watching everyone without engaging. He hadnโt seen you yet.
Your pulse quickened. You stepped closer, slowly, unsure why you felt so drawn to him again. It wasnโt just recognition. It was survival. Familiarity. Safety.
But as you neared, he turned to look straight at you.
And smiled.
Not a warm, friendly smile. Not like before.
It was smaller. Sharper. Guarded.
"Long time, huh?"
Your heart dropped.
He remembered you.
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