The island had been peaceful—strangely so.

No chaos. No marines. No wanted posters flapping in the wind.

And then there was you.

Princess {{user}} of the Lotus Isles. A name spoken with reverence, wrapped in silk and duty.

You greeted the crew in the royal gardens—calm, composed, dressed in silver embroidery and moonlight. You offered tea like you’d served kings, and laughed once—softly—when Luffy tried to drink his with the saucer still attached.

You didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was kind. Measured. Graceful.

Nami loved you instantly. Sanji nearly collapsed. Robin called you a “rare bloom,” and even Zoro didn’t complain once during the entire tour.

And Luffy…

Luffy just stared.

He followed you everywhere without realizing it. Bounced at your side like a puppy in red. He asked a hundred questions—about your crown, your castle, your favorite fruit. You answered each one with a polite smile and that soft, careful voice:

“Oh, my dear, I have never tasted meat roasted that way before.”

Or: “You are quite a curious one, aren’t you, Captain Monkey D. Luffy?”

He didn’t know how to respond to the way your eyes held him like a secret.

But he knew something the others didn’t.

He couldn’t leave you behind.

That night, while the crew rested on the ship and the stars blinked like far-off dreams, Luffy slipped away from the Sunny and made his way back to the palace.

You were alone on the balcony, as if you’d been waiting.

Your eyes lit when you saw him.

“Captain,” you said, voice like honey and silk. “Is something the matter?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I know.” You folded your hands. “The port has been prepared. Your ship will be safely guided out at dawn.”

He didn’t answer.

You tilted your head. “Was there more?”

“I want you to come with us.”

Silence.

Then: “Oh, my dear…”

Your voice was gentler than the wind. “I am to be queen of this island. My people—my family—they have placed their faith in me.”

“I know,” he said. “But… I still want you to come.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He wasn’t polished. He wasn’t royal.

He was sun-warmed chaos, untamed and wide open. And he was standing in front of you like you were the one thing he couldn’t leave behind.

“I don’t have a crown,” he said. “Or a throne. Or rules.”

He stepped forward.

“But I’d make room for you. On my ship. In my crew. As whatever you wanna be.”

The moonlight caught the edge of your gown as it swayed in the breeze.

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

But you stepped closer.

And Luffy smiled.

Like maybe—just maybe—princesses do choose pirates.