The plan to pass Gunnar off as a simple attendant hit an immediate and rather glaring snag: Gunnar was built like a siege engine, while the Long-Leg Tribe, though tall, were elegant and slender. Placing him two paces behind the frail Chieftain didn't make him look like a guard; it made him look like a predator stalking its elderly prey.
"This will never work," Pudding fretted, wringing her hands as they stood in a private antechamber. "You're… you're too wide. They'll know you're not one of us."
Gunnar crossed his arms, the attendant's cloak straining at the seams. "I can't exactly make myself smaller."
Chieftain Long-John stroked his long, white beard thoughtfully, his ancient eyes sizing Gunnar up. An idea, born of either senile genius or pure desperation, began to form.
"The boy is strong, yes?" he mused.
"He bench-pressed a sea king once," came a disembodied voice. They all jumped. Ace was leaning in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. "Just for fun."
The Chieftain's eyes lit up. "Perfect." He turned to Gunnar. "Attendant. Kneel."
Gunnar, bewildered, reluctantly did as he was told. The old man then proceeded to, with surprising agility, climb onto Gunnar's massive shoulders, his long legs dangling down Gunnar's chest.
"What in the…?" Gunnar started.
"Be quiet and stand up, boy," the Chieftain commanded. Gunnar stood, easily bearing the man's negligible weight. The effect was… striking. The old man was now perched nearly fifteen feet in the air.
"Pudding, my dear," the Chieftain said from his new vantage point. "Fetch me that ridiculous ceremonial robe from the wardrobe. The one for the Winter Solstice Festival."
Pudding, her expression a mixture of horror and dawning comprehension, scurried to a large armoire and pulled out an enormous, heavy cloak of dark blue velvet, large enough to cover a small carriage. With great effort, they draped it over both Gunnar and the Chieftain.
The result was flawless, and utterly absurd.
It now looked like a single, impossibly tall, and rather portly member of the Long-Leg Tribe. The Chieftain's head poked out from the top, his expression sagely. Gunnar, completely hidden beneath the robe, was now the man's legs and torso.
"I can't see a thing," Gunnar grumbled from inside the velvet prison.
"You don't need to see, you just need to walk," the Chieftain retorted. "And for heaven's sake, try to walk gracefully. You have the stride of a drunken bear. Left foot. Now right foot. Gently!"
Ace was leaning against the wall, tears of laughter streaming down his face. "This is the greatest infiltration plan I have ever seen."
"Shut up, Ace," Gunnar's muffled voice growled from the robe. "Or I'm walking us into a wall."
---
A lavish, swan-shaped ferry carried them across the sweet, syrupy channel toward the main island. The colossal Whole Cake Chateau dominated the horizon, a monument to power and pastry. While the ferry glided across the water, the Striker, now piloted by Ace and Isshin, slipped away from Leguman Island, heading toward a new, predetermined hiding spot closer to the main island—a cave system hidden behind a cliff of solid dark chocolate.
Upon arrival, the trio disembarked. "Chieftain Long-John"—the bizarre, two-man amalgam—moved with a surprisingly convincing, if slightly lumbering, gait. Pudding walked beside them, her face a perfect mask of polite deference, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The journey to the Queen's Chamber was nerve-wracking. They passed through gilded halls patrolled by Chess Soldiers and animated, gossiping teacups. No one gave them a second glance. The sight of a tribe Chieftain, even a particularly bulky one, visiting the castle was not unusual. The commanders, as Pudding had predicted, were absent. The recent war had left them occupied with repairs, troop management, and border patrols. Security was high, but focused outward.
They finally reached the top floor, a private, opulent wing of the chateau. Two formidable, jam-filled Homie guards stood before a set of ornate doors.
"Chieftain Long-John," Pudding announced brightly. "Here to visit his daughter, on Mama's good graces."
The guards bowed and opened the doors. "He has been expected."
They stepped inside. The room was luxurious, filled with soft silks and the gentle scent of lavender. Nurses bustled about quietly. And there, reclining on a large bed, was Smoothie.
She looked tired, her vibrant energy muted, but a fierce, protective light shone in her eyes. She looked up as they entered, her gaze falling on the towering, robed figure.
"Father," she said, her voice flat and cold. There was no warmth, no welcome. Only a weary, formal acknowledgment.
The Chieftain's head, perched atop Gunnar's shoulders, nodded solemnly. "Smoothie, my child."
Pudding discreetly dismissed the nurses, leaving the four of them alone. Gunnar, following the old man's subtle taps on his head, walked them closer to the bed.
"You have never visited me before," Smoothie stated, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Not once in all these years. Why now? Has Mama ordered you to give me a lecture on family duty?"
The Chieftain's face, visible above the robe, was etched with a deep, ancient pain. "No, child. I… I came to see if you were well."
"I am a prisoner in a gilded cage, but yes, I am 'well'," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She shifted in the bed, her hand resting on her swollen belly. "What do you want?"
"Smoothie," the old man began, his voice trembling slightly. "I know I have not been… what I should have been. A father. I allowed Linlin to… I was a coward."
"You were," she agreed, her gaze unflinching.
It was in that moment that the robe shifted. Gunnar, hidden beneath, took a single, deliberate step forward, bringing them right to her bedside.
Smoothie's eyes, drawn by the unexpected movement, widened. She saw the bottom of the robe, the heavy, scarred combat boots that were so utterly out of place. Her breath hitched. Her gaze shot up to the Chieftain's face, then back down. It couldn't be.
From within the velvet darkness, a low voice, a voice she had heard in her dreams every night, rumbled softly.
"Heard you were expecting a visitor."
The Chieftain lifted the heavy robe. And there he was. Gunnar, crouched beneath, his ice-blue eyes locking with hers. He slowly stood up, the robe falling away. He was covered in fading bruises and angry, stitched wounds, but he was there.
Smoothie's mask of cold indifference shattered. Her eyes filled with tears, her mouth falling open, but no sound came out. It was a silent, soul-shaking cry of disbelief and overwhelming love.
He was here. Her stupid, reckless, impossible husband had walked into the heart of hell for her.
***
The velvet robe shifted, a silent curtain rising on the most impossible stage. A low, familiar rumble, a voice that was the bedrock of her new life, came from within.
"Heard you were expecting a visitor."
Chieftain Long-John, with a surprising amount of trust, allowed himself to be lifted. Gunnar rose from his crouched position, gently setting his father-in-law down on the plush carpet as if he were a piece of fragile porcelain. The heavy robe fell away, pooling at his feet.
And there he was. Not a ghost, not a dream. Gunnar. His body was a testament to the war he'd fought to get here, a canvas of angry red stitches and the deep purple and yellow of fading bruises. But his eyes, those impossible ice-blue eyes, were fixed on her, and they held nothing but adoration.
Smoothie's carefully constructed dam of composure didn't just crack; it disintegrated. A choked sob, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy, escaped her lips. The cold, cynical Sweet Commander vanished, replaced by a woman seeing her world made whole again.
Before anyone could react, she launched herself from the bed. All the exhaustion, all the pain, was forgotten. She threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her legs around his waist, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder.
Gunnar staggered back a step, a grunt of pain escaping his lips as her weight met his wounded body, but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, his hand protectively cradling the swell of her belly. He breathed in her scent—citrus and strength and home.
"You're here," she wept into his tunic, her tears warm against his skin. "You're an absolute, reckless, beautiful idiot."
"Told you I'd come," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He held her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with his calloused thumbs. "Nothing in this world could have stopped me."
Pudding stared, her mouth agape. The raw, unfiltered love between them was something she had only read about in fairytales. It was a force more powerful than any Devil Fruit.
It was in this perfect, stolen moment that the world came crashing down.
BWOOOP! BWOOOP! BWOOOP!
A deafening, high-pitched alarm blared through the chateau, its red emergency lights bathing the opulent room in a hellish glow.
Pudding paled. "The alarm! But… how? I didn't… No one saw us!"
And then, a sound cut through the noise. A dry, rattling, and utterly evil laugh.
They all turned. Chieftain Long-John was standing, but his frail, sad demeanor was gone. His back was straight, his eyes burned with a cold, ancient hatred, and his face was twisted into a triumphant, grotesque sneer.
"She did not see you," he hissed, his voice no longer frail but filled with venom. "I did." He tapped a small, ornate ring on his finger—a hidden panic button.
"Father… what have you done?" Smoothie whispered, her joy turning to ice in her veins.
"'Father'?" the old man spat the word like poison. "That title was forced upon me, just as you were! For you, for your mother's ambition, my life was ruined!" His voice rose to a fever pitch, a lifetime of repressed agony pouring out. "The woman I loved was cast aside, my family threatened, my will broken! I was forced to be with that monster Linlin, simply because I was the strongest of my tribe! I have spent eighty years as a puppet, a symbol, a prisoner in a gilded cage of my own!"
He pointed a long, trembling finger at Smoothie. "I suffered. I lost everything. And now…" a terrible, broken smile stretched across his face, "…now she will feel what it is like to have the one you love cornered, helpless, and about to be ripped away forever. She will feel the pain I have felt every single day!"
The grand doors to the chamber burst open. A phalanx of armored Chess Soldiers stormed in, their spears and halberds leveled.
Gunnar didn't hesitate. He gently let Smoothie go, pushing her behind him. "Stay back."
He moved with the speed of a striking viper. Before the old Chieftain could even savor his revenge, Gunnar's hand shot out, grabbing the man's long leg. He yanked, pulling the Chieftain off his feet and dragging him across the floor like a sack of bones.
The old man shrieked in surprise and pain. Gunnar stood over him, his face a mask of cold, absolute fury. His right fist, already coated in a shimmering, obsidian layer of Haki, slammed down. It wasn't a world-breaking quake. It was a focused, brutal, and deeply personal punch that connected with the Chieftain's face.
The crack of bone was audible even over the alarms. The old man was launched backward like a cannonball, smashing through the front rank of Chess Soldiers and crashing into a heap against the far wall, unconscious and broken.
"Smoothie," Gunnar said, not taking his eyes off the soldiers pouring into the room. "You can't run. Not like this." He looked at Pudding and the terrified nurses who had just rushed back in. "You three! Get her to the birthing room, the safest place in this wing. Bar the doors. Protect her."
"He's right," Smoothie said, her voice shaking but firm. She clutched her belly, another wave of pain, this one from the stress, washing over her. She knew a fight was no place for her now.
Pudding, snapping out of her shock, nodded. "This way! Hurry!" They helped Smoothie up, supporting her as they rushed toward a reinforced door at the back of the suite.
Gunnar turned to face the army of animated pawns. "I'm getting all of you out of here," he growled to himself. "At once."
---
Miles away, in the dark chocolate cave, Ace and Isshin heard the distant, unmistakable sound of the chateau's emergency alarm echoing across the water.
They looked at each other. The twelve-hour grace period had lasted less than one.
"So much for 'no trouble unless necessary'," Ace muttered, a wide, excited grin spreading across his face. He cracked his knuckles, which were already starting to smolder.
Isshin stood up, drawing his katana with a soft shing. "The plan has changed from infiltration to exfiltration."
"You mean we get to break stuff?" Ace asked eagerly.
"We will clear a path," Isshin corrected, though a rare, thin smile touched his lips. "Forcefully."
They burst from the cave, Ace becoming a pillar of fire propelling them across the syrupy sea, a living missile aimed directly at the heart of the chaos.