“Luffy?”

Chopper’s voice echoed through the Sunny, small and tense. “Has anyone seen Luffy?”

No one had.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

Panic cracked through the crew. Rooms were checked. Sails, storage, even the crow’s nest. Nothing.

“Where the hell did he go?” Nami snapped, heart racing.

And then— “LOOK!”

Brook’s voice pierced the air, sharp and frantic. Everyone ran to the railing.

There he was.

Luffy.

In the ocean, limbs heavy, barely moving. Head dipping under the waves.

He was drowning.

Everyone froze.

He’d been in the water too long. Salt soaked through every thread of him. His limbs didn’t obey. Every breath felt like it might be the last. He clawed upward, again and again, but the sea always pulled him back.

He was fighting.

But he was scared.

Really scared.

He wasn’t supposed to die like this. He had so much left to do. So many promises. He still hadn’t become King.

But he couldn’t breathe.

You didn’t think.

You just jumped.

While the others were still caught in the shock, while they were still blinking, trying to move—you were already cutting through the waves.

Closer.

One meter away.

Then his arms wrapped around you like a vice.

Not playful. Not teasing. Just desperate.

His hands shook. His face was pale. There was no trace of that wild grin he always wore. His hat was slipping from his head, forgotten.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t look away.

Just held onto you like the world had disappeared beneath him.

And though you hated being touched—always had—this time, you didn’t pull away.

You let him cling to you, water and all.

Because for the first time, he needed you. Not as a crewmate. Not as a fighter.

But as the one person who jumped when everyone else froze.