You never trusted men. You hated men. The disgusting looks they'd give you. The lies. The feeling of being branded, owned under a guise of love.

So when Whitebeard extended his hand, you tried to break it.

But he never gave up. He didn’t demand respect. you could spit in his face and he’d wipe it off. “Guurarara! You’ve got spirit, girl. Be my daughter already!"

Ace was the one who dragged you here—He vouched for you, insisted you weren’t bad. But holy hell, you make him regret it sometimes.

He matches your spite though. You push, he pushes back. You scream, he screams louder. “Why do you keep trying to kill him? Pops is NOTHING like them!”

Marco’s the one who gets stuck cleaning up your messes. You throw food. You break bottles. You curse everyone out.

He doesn’t flinch when you lash out. He takes every insult, every threat, every knife with that same calm tone.

“Yoi, you’re exhausting, you know that? …But you’re not leaving. Not while Pops has his mind made up.”