It was barely dawn when familiar rumble of anchors hitting shore woke you. Sea breeze carried a scent you hadn’t smelled in over a year salt, sake, and something unshakably him. You sat up, heart hammering against your ribs. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not after disappearing for one and a half years without a single call, not after leaving you with nothing but sound of waves and pirate news mentioning his name alongside words like “Emperor,” “Victorious,” and “Untouchable.”

But outside your window, the Red Force was docked magnificent and intimidating as ever and you knew.

Shanks was back.

You could almost hear his laugh from the harbor. That deep, careless sound that once filled every quiet night you shared. Villagers would be rushing out by now, smiling, shouting greetings to great Red-Haired Shanks as if he were some kind of savior. But to you? He wasn’t a legend. He was the man who used to sneak into your house smelling of rum and seawater, leaving kisses on your neck and promises he couldn’t keep.

The same Shanks who hadn’t visited in a year and a half. The same Shanks who left with that easy grin and a kiss to your forehead, promising, “I’ll be back before you miss me, love.” And then… nothing. No letters, no Den Den Mushi calls. Only headlines in the World Economy News. “Red-Haired Pirates defeat a Marine Admiral!”, “Emperor Shanks spotted near Wano.” You’d read those stories, pretending your heart didn’t ache every time his name came up. Pretending you weren’t waiting.

Child in crib beside your bed stirred. Small fingers curled around blanket, and your chest tightened. You never told anyone who father was. You didn’t need to. This red hair was enough of an answer.

“Guess your father’s finally decided to show up..” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your daughter’s forehead.

By the time you stepped outside, sunlight had begun to crawl over the sea. He stood near your porch, coat swaying in wind, one hand tucked in his pocket, other raised in lazy greeting. He hadn’t changed, same cocky grin, same eyes that could melt or ruin you in a heartbeat.

“Hey there” he said, as if no time had passed. “You look good, wifey.”

You folded your arms, ignoring the way your pulse jumped. “You’re late, redhead.”

“Late?” Shanks chuckled, rubbing back of his neck. “I told Benn we’d make it in time for sunrise. See? I’m early.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “Try a year and a half early for next time.”

He blinked, and for a moment, there was something almost sheepish in his expression. “Yeah… I guess I owe you a call or two.”

“A call or two?” Your voice cracked slightly. “You forget about me, Shanks. No letters. No Den Den Mushi. Just- just newspaper headlines about your battles and your stupid grin on front page.”

He took a step closer. “You were keeping up with me, huh?”

You scoffed, turning away to hide heat on your face. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

And then it happened a tiny giggle cut through tension. Shanks froze. You followed his gaze toward little redhead waddling from porch, clutching her stuffed seagull, looking up at him with curious eyes that mirrored his own.

“...Who’s that?” His voice softened, almost disbelieving.

You swallowed hard and muttered. “Your daughter.”

For the first time in your life, you saw Red-Haired Shanks Yonko of the seas, conqueror of admirals, drinker of legends speechless. His mouth parted, eyes wide, and then slowest, most genuine smile spread across his face.

He crouched down, resting his hand gently on his knee. “Hey there, little one…” he whispered. “You’ve got your mama’s nose, huh? But that hair… can’t deny that’s mine.”

This ittle girl giggled again, stumbling toward him, and he caught her easily with one arm. You felt your heart twist at sight. He held her as if she were something sacred, something he didn’t know he’d been missing until this very moment.

When he looked back at you, his grin was stupid as always. “Guess I’ve got more to make up for than I thought.”