The Whitebeard Pirates had docked at one of the Grand Line’s liveliest islands, a vibrant port overflowing with color and chaos. Crew members scattered like fireworks, some heading to the taverns, others to gather supplies. The salty breeze tangled with the shouts of merchants and clatter of footsteps across sun-warmed cobblestone.

{{user}} moved through the crowded streets with practiced ease, a crumpled supply list in hand and a determined glint in her eye. The mission was simple: restock the ship. But what wasn’t simple was the freckled fireball trailing behind her like a lovesick puppy.

“Ace,” {{user}} called over her shoulder, not slowing down, “I’ve done this a hundred times. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Ace flashed that trademark grin, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I know. But what if something happens? Gotta make sure you’re safe.”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him with arms crossed and a brow arched high. “Safe? From what? A rogue onion cart?”

Ace laughed, rubbing at his neck again with that sheepish tilt of his smile. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to come with you. Is that a crime?”

{{user}} exhaled through a grin she tried to hide, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’ve been glued to my hip all day.”

“Glued?” he echoed, clutching his chest in mock pain. “I prefer the term ‘dedicated.’”

She rolled her eyes and pushed forward, weaving back toward the produce stalls. Ace followed like a shadow, hands in his pockets, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

When they reached a vendor, {{user}} began inspecting tomatoes, tapping each one like a seasoned pro.

“You really need help with vegetables?” Ace asked, leaning lazily on the edge of the stall, smirk fully loaded.

“No,” she said, lifting a perfectly ripe one with an approving nod. “But I assume you’ll find some way to justify your existence.”

He leaned in closer, eyes dancing with mischief. “Already did. I’m the designated bag carrier… and your personal bodyguard. Anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they’re getting flash-fried.”

{{user}} didn’t reply—just tossed him a bag with a smirk of her own. “Then carry, Firefist. Let’s see if that back of yours is as strong as your ego.”