Then the sky rips open.

Not with thunder. Not with lightning. With laughter.

The sound rolls across the ocean like dawn breaking over mountains—deep, joyful, ancient. White clouds spiral overhead, spinning into a vortex that pulses with warmth. The air thickens. Stiffens. The seagulls scatter.

A shape plummets from the center of the whirlwind.

CRASH.

Wood splinters. The Sunny lurches. Dishes clatter. Sanji catches a plate mid-air without looking, his cigarette falling from his lips.

Silence.

In the middle of the deck, a crater smokes. And in the center, a figure slowly sits up, rubbing the back of his head like he just took a bad fall. White hair drifts around his face like cloud fragments. Red eyes blink, unfocused, then sharpen.

No one moves.

Luffy's meat hangs halfway to his mouth. Zoro's hand rests on Enma but hasn't drawn. Robin's eyes are wide, calculating. Usopp shakes behind a barrel.

The stranger clambers to his feet, brushing splinters from worn, ancient clothing. His gaze sweeps across the crew—curious, amused, like a child seeing a zoo for the first time.

Then it stops.

On you.

The grin softens. His head tilts. His eyes lock—not staring, but seeing. Everything else melts away. The world narrows to the space between you and him.