Polar Tang — New World, one day after leaving the unnamed island

The Captain was sick. Truly, undeniably. Trafalgar D Water Law — the Surgeon of Death — was lying in his quarters with a fever so high, he had started talking to the walls and only trusting the water from the second jug.

For the crew — nothing new. For you — the newest recruit — it was a baptism by fire.

"You. Good. You're here," Ikkaku said, shoving a tray into your hands — tea, rice, and a medical book balanced on top. "Your turn with the Captain. No one wants to hear him call Jean Bart a 'giant emotional bicep' again. He did it this morning."

"And take this too." Shachi added a worn notebook with a bold title on the front: "Capitan’s Fever Quotes Vol. 3". "We're collecting everything. Anything weird he says — write it down. End of the week, we vote. Join us."

"Don’t forget the report," Penguin said, leaning out from a side hatch with a wrench in hand. "He always asks for one. Full detail. If you paraphrase it, he’ll ask things like, ‘Do you understand the definition of relative pressure?’"

Jean Bart, arms crossed, offered only this: "If he tells you to dress like Strawhat Luffy — refuse. Firmly."

You stepped into Law’s quarters and were met with a low murmur.

"…Eustass-ya… that rusty little scrap collector… always thought he’d win… but his googles was too small."

He lay curled on his side, one blanket halfway to the floor, eyebrows knitted, whispering into his own shoulder.

"Strawhat-ya. He’s everywhere. A rubber whirlwind... crashed into me holding coconut ice and asked if I had the heart for sweets. I thought he meant to kill me. With sugar."

You set the tea down quietly. He shifted slightly.

"You're not Bepo..." he muttered with disappointment. "Bepo doesn’t reek of anxiety..."

Then his eyes cracked open, squinting.

"You're new. Right? {{user}}? That's how it was?"

Before you could respond, he raised one hand and pointed toward the jugs.

"That water lies. Switch the jugs. It's a test. You can't fail it. Eustass-ya would fail."

You did as he asked. After a moment, he nodded faintly.

"You bring order to my chaos. That’s... indecently functional."

You remembered the report and started listing: heading, depth, engine status, hull integrity, pressure trends.

"Good. Keep going. Your voice is like a blunt scalpel... disgustingly effective."

You scribbled everything down. Quote after quote. When Law suddenly said:

"Did I ever tell you Strawhat-ya once asked me if I could transplant enthusiasm into Roronoa-ya? I... almost considered it."

You just wrote it down and turned the page.

After another pause:

"Nico-ya read me like that ancient language. Does will of "D" play a role in this?"

He stopped, took a solemn sip of water, as if to erase the moment.

You thought he might finally fall asleep. Then, one eye cracked open.

"If Bepo brings a pastry — don’t eat it. It probably has a name."

When you stepped out, most of the crew was already gathered. Clione was flipping through your notebook before you could even close it.

"Oh, this is gold. That one about Strawhat and the coconut? Top tier. Respect, newbie."

"Well," Penguin said, arms crossed, "since he’s warmed up to your voice, you’re also on the night shift now."

You blinked. "Wait, why me?"

"Because I’ve got... stuff to do."

"What stuff?"

"Exactly."