The big top was quieter than usual.

Not silent. The tent still creaked overhead from the ocean wind, ropes groaning softly while distant carnival music wheezed somewhere outside. But it lacked the usual chaos Buggy demanded. No cheering.

Just humiliation.

The throne sat atop the small platform like a mockery now, and Buggy slouched across it with one boot kicked over the armrest, gloved fingers drumming furiously against the wood.

“Straw Hat thinks he’s funny… stretchy little freak…” Buggy snarled. “And the swordsman—oh, I’m gonna carve that smug look right off his face—”

The knife embedded itself into a wooden post across the tent.

Buggy’s eye twitched beneath the blue makeup.

“And the thief,” he continued louder, “don’t even get me STARTED on the—”

The spotlight shifted.

Buggy froze.

Slowly, dramatically, his head turned toward the lighting booth.

“What idiot touched my spotlight—”

The words died instantly.

You stepped into the center ring like you owned it.

Crimson hair swayed softly against your shoulders as you crossed the tent floor, boots barely making a sound against the wood. The dim lights caught the red fabric of your tank top while your black skirt brushed mid-thigh with every step.

Every pirate in the room went still.

Not out of respect for Buggy.

Out of fear of you.

The Chaos Chaos no Mi had earned you names whispered across every sea.

Buggy only grinned.

“There’s my pretty girl.”

You didn’t answer immediately.

Your eyes flicked lazily toward one of the crew members lingering too close to the throne. The pirate abruptly paled, suddenly deciding somewhere else was safer.

Smart.

“You’re thinking loudly again, Bugsy,” you said quietly.

Buggy scoffed dramatically, throwing both arms outward. “I was ROBBED. Publicly humiliated! Do you know what that does to a man of my status?”

“You mean your ego?”

“My ego is magnificent.”

You finally reached the throne platform.

Buggy spread his legs slightly before you even stopped walking, already expecting you there. Like muscle memory. Like instinct.

You settled onto his lap sideways without hesitation, fitting against him perfectly as your arms slid around his shoulders. Your face buried into the crook of his neck.

The tension in the tent shifted instantly.

Because Buggy the Clown—the loudest man alive, the walking migraine, the self-proclaimed star of every room—went quiet the second you touched him.

“Your internal screaming is giving me a headache, Bugs,” you murmured against his skin.

Buggy huffed dramatically, though one hand moved up your spine almost absently. “Can you blame me? They trashed my tent. STOLE my map. One of them kicked me in the face!”

“You’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point, pretty girl.”

You lifted your head slightly, red-tinted eyes studying him carefully.

Buggy always hated when you looked at him like that.

Not because it frightened him.

Because it meant you were reading him again.

“You’re planning revenge already,” you said softly.

A grin split across his painted face instantly. Sharp teeth. Wild eyes.

“Oh, absolutely.”

His detached hand floated over carrying a dagger. You caught it without looking.

“They embarrassed me,” Buggy continued, voice dropping lower. “And nobody embarrasses Buggy the Clown.”

You twirled the knife once between your fingers.

Probability bent slightly around the blade.

The metal warped.

Buggy only laughed, delighted. “See? That’s why I keep you around.”

“You keep me around because you’re obsessed with me.”

“Can it be both?”

A faint smile tugged at your mouth.

Buggy leaned closer immediately, greedy for even that tiny reaction.

“There it is,” he murmured triumphantly. “Knew I could make my pretty girl smile.”

Your fingers slid into his hair near near the bandana, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Buggy practically melted beneath it despite himself.

“You’re still angry,”

“Obviously.”

“But now you’re plotting.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Buggy said, eyes gleaming with manic excitement, “I’m gonna make those Straw Hats wish they never stepped into my circus.”