"Ah… so this is the version of you that arrived."
Vegapunk's voice was calm. But his eyes… oh, his eyes weren't.
Wide. Red-veined. Bloodshot from endless sleepless nights. The kind of eyes that belonged to someone who wrestled with the future itself—and never won a single round of rest.
He stared at me like I was a mirror that talked back.
Not admiration.
Not affection.
Recognition.
The Trust Skill didn't make him friendly.
It didn't even make him trust me fully.
It made him… serious.
"…Hah," he muttered, scratching his chin. "So it's really you."
I kept my tone even. Calm. Controlled. "Doctor," I said, letting my gaze meet his. "I'll be direct. I'm here for three things. Information. Weapons. And… something for myself."
Vegapunk's ears twitched—well, metaphorically. His whole body perked up. "Straight to business? Good! I hate small talk—waste of neurons!"
I exhaled slowly. "First—information. Are there any giant children here? Any leftover experiments?"
For the first time since I arrived, his expression softened. Just slightly. A flicker of something… remorse?
"Giants?" he echoed. "No, no, no. That was Punk Hazard. A failure. A mistake. Children… should never be used to chase progress."
I nodded, quietly. "Good."
He studied me again. Firmly. Like weighing my thoughts, my intentions. "There are no giants here. No cages. No leftovers from that era. Only… ideas. Ideas are all that remain."
I let the words sink in, feeling a tiny relief. "I care about that."
Vegapunk tilted his head. "I expected as much."
Then suddenly, he spun around, digging into a desk that looked like a bomb waiting to detonate. Lights blinked. Sparks flew. Components hummed as if alive.
"But you said three things!" he chirped, grinning. "So next—ah yes—weapons."
I didn't need to speak. He already knew.
"The Pacifista, yes?" he said, laughing softly. "Everyone wants to understand them… but few ever touch the core of what they are."
Without even glancing at a Den Den Mushi, he pulled a thick, leather-bound book from the pile. Slammed it onto the table.
THUD.
"My diary," he said. "Blueprints. Lineage Factor notes. Failures. Stabilization of lasers. Secrets. Everything."
I reached out, hesitating slightly. "The World Government… would execute islands for this."
He nodded. "Exactly. Which is why it shouldn't be with them."
He slid the book toward me. "You can keep it. I trust you more than them."
I felt the weight—not of leather, not of paper—but of history. Of blood. Of countless secrets whispered and locked away.
I didn't take it.
The silence stretched.
Vegapunk blinked. "Aren't you going to pick it up?"
I shook my head slowly. "No."
His brow furrowed. "Why not?"
"Because if I carry that," I said calmly, "every step I take from now on becomes a death sentence. Not just for me—for everyone around me."
Vegapunk stared.
I pushed the diary back toward him. "You keep it. Hide it better. I don't need knowledge that turns my crew into targets."
Vegapunk stared at me for a moment.
"…Most people grab knowledge the moment it's offered, but" he muttered.
"You calculated the cost first."
He tucked the book away himself. "Very well. That was the second thing."
"And the third thing?" he asked, eyes sparkling with manic excitement.
I looked down at my hands. "I need something for myself."
"Oh?" His voice tilted with curiosity, almost playful.
"A weapon," I said, meeting his gaze. "Not something anyone can take away. Not something that can be stolen, or broken, or… exhausted."
He went silent. Not a blink, not a twitch.
Then slowly… a grin spread across his face. Wide. Maniacal. Genius. "A personal weapon…" he whispered, leaning closer. "Heh… heheheh…"
I stepped back slightly, unease prickling my spine.
"Do you know about the Lunarians?" he asked suddenly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
I cocked my head. "…The ones who lived atop the Red Line? Fire on their backs. Near-invincible?"
"Gods," he corrected, "or close enough." His massive hand gripped my shoulder. Not rough. Decisive. Anchored.
"I won't give you steel," he said. "Steel breaks."
"I won't give you guns. Guns run out."
Then his eyes… they flickered with a fire that made me shiver. "I'll give you fire… that never freezes."
I frowned. "Doctor… what exactly—"
"Trust me!" he said cheerfully, spinning me toward a massive chamber. "That's what friends do, right? We share our greatest gifts!"
The room beyond was blinding white. Surgical lights like mini suns. Glass vats glowing amber. Lasers suspended in midair, sleeping beasts of energy.
I stopped. "Vegapunk… be honest with me. What is this really for?"
He looked at me for a moment. Longer than comfortable. Then smiled. A mixture of pride and madness. "I'm going to change you. But only because you can survive it."
I swallowed hard. A shiver ran down my spine as he pulled an anesthesia mask toward me. Cool air hissed across my face.
"Lie down," he said gently, almost softly. "When you wake up…"
His eyes locked onto mine, wide, alive, dangerous.
"…you'll never be cold again."
I exhaled.
A laugh, bitter and awed, escaped my throat.
"…Bruhhh," I muttered.