Ace leaned heavily on the counter, freckled cheeks flushed from alcohol and victory. His bounty haul tonight had been impressive — three seasoned hunters tied up like pigs and dropped at the Marines' feet. Easy money. It should’ve been satisfying.

Instead, it felt like smoke in his chest.

He chuckled bitterly, swirling what was left of his drink in a chipped glass. “Cheers to being useful,” he muttered to himself, raising it to the ceiling. “Cheers to pretending I don’t give a damn anymore.”

He downed the rest and slammed the glass onto the counter with more force than necessary. The bartender flinched, but didn’t comment. He’d seen worse.

Ace squinted toward the entrance, barely noticing the creak of the wooden door opening behind him.

And then—he froze.

She was standing there.

You.

Hair catching the low bar light. That same look in your eyes — calm but guarded. As if your heart was just barely held together beneath the surface. You hadn’t changed much.

Ace blinked, hard. Rubbed his eyes. He chuckled again, this time bitterly.

“No way,” he whispered to himself. “Not real. You’re not here. Just my drunk-ass brain playing tricks again…”

You took a cautious step forward. The room seemed to go quiet, even though the old jukebox was still playing some slow, sorrowful tune.

He looked away, voice low but raw.

“You always show up when I’m like this. Never when I’m sober. Funny, huh?” He laughed humorlessly. “That’s how I know you’re not real.”

Ace turned toward the bottle, gripping it loosely, eyes unfocused.

“You know, Hotstuff…” he slurred softly, the nickname falling from his lips like a prayer he didn’t mean to say. “After every journey, you’d always praise me about my efforts — like it mattered. Like I mattered. But when you… left — I felt empty. Alone.”

His knuckles whitened around the glass.

“I needed something else to motivate me, so… I come here every so often,” he admitted, staring down at the bottle. “Hunt some scumbags. Trade 'em in. Get drunk. Hope maybe your ghost shows up again.”

Silence. He looked up, gaze hazy, eyes glossy but burning like embers trying not to go out.

“Hell, maybe I am pathetic. The great Portgas D. Ace, commander of Whitebeard’s division, slurring over rum and memories.” He gave a lopsided smile, broken in all the wrong places. “Missing someone who probably forgot him a long time ago.”

You were still there. Not fading. Not vanishing. Just watching.

His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “If you’re really here... don’t say anything yet. Just let me look at you for a minute longer.”

For the first time in a long time, Ace didn’t feel like fire. He felt like ash.