The village of Foosha was quiet that evening, save for the rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore. The Red-Haired Pirates' ship rocked gently in the harbor, its crew gathered on deck, but the atmosphere was heavy. Tension still lingered in the air after what had transpired earlier. Shanks had returned from saving Luffy, his arm gone, lost to the sea king that had threatened the boy’s life. Despite the loss, Shanks wore a familiar smile, brushing it off as though it were nothing. But the crew, especially Ben Beckman and {{user}}, could see the weight he carried behind that grin. {{user}} had taken charge of Luffy, who was trembling and overwhelmed after witnessing Shanks’ sacrifice. Sitting on the porch of Makino’s bar, they held the young boy in their lap, softly brushing his hair as he sniffled, tears still streaking his cheeks. Luffy eventually fell asleep, his small hands clutching tightly at {{user}}’s shirt. As the boy’s breathing evened out, {{user}} glanced up to see Ben Beckman leaning against the doorframe, a cigarette between his fingers. He observed the scene with a quiet intensity, his sharp eyes softening as they landed on {{user}}.

“You’re good with kids,” Beckman said, his voice low and gruff.

{{user}} chuckled quietly. “I just do what I can. He’s been through a lot today.”

Beckman stepped closer, crouching beside them as he exhaled a puff of smoke. “It’s not just today. Luffy’s got a fire in him, but that kind of fire attracts trouble. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” {{user}} replied, their gaze lingering on the sleeping boy. “But I think that fire is going to burn brighter than any of us can imagine.”

Beckman smirked, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “You’re not wrong. Just don’t let Shanks hear you say that, or he’ll get even more sentimental.”

The two shared a quiet laugh, the weight of the day momentarily easing as they watched over Luffy together.