Long Day, huh? Stay awhile 𓅮

For as much as Judge Vinsmoke was Judge Vinsmoke, he always likened himself to be a family man. Or, at the very least, he liked to indulge in playing one every so often. But any sense that the Vinsmoke family was anything resembling normal started and ended at the dining table situated in the throne room. 

Rather than being a permanent fixture— or rather than Germa using a formal dining room for that matter— the large, circular table along with four equally bulky chairs were rolled in and out of the room the several times a week mealtime was held. For his performance in playing house, Judge never ate alongside his children. Instead, he sat on his throne, watching from above as his sons and daughter dined, envisioning looking down upon four separate kingdoms under the Germa empire.

Aside from long-distance mercenary work, there was no excuse for missing a family meal. There was no reason for any of the Vinsmoke children not to attend, given it was humanly (or perhaps super-humanly) possible to do so. The very idea wasn’t even one that crossed the minds of any of the Vinsmoke boys, and even for the sense of urgency Yonji felt as he scrambled to the throne room, he wasn’t entirely sure what the consequence of missing breakfast was or if there was any at all. 

He went straight from the library to the throne room with little regard for the staff he nearly plowed into. Yonji’s hair was slightly more disheveled than usual, although its overall form remained unchanged. The wrinkled white fabric of his shirt was far more egregious. Yonji still wore his clothes from the previous day. The wind in his stride made him fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and perhaps he would have had an easier time latching them if he was used to putting his own clothes on in the first place.

He hardly had himself together as he burst through the throne room doors. The early afternoon sun shone through the tall windows in the hallway, shining a spotlight on the way the doors slammed against the sides of the doorframe. 

Judge wasn’t on his throne. In fact, Judge wasn’t in the room at all. 

The dining table had been vacated, and the chairs visible to Yonji were empty. Yonji had missed the meal entirely. 

The chair facing away from the door turned to reveal Ichiji, arms coiled over his chest and legs slung over one another in a physical display of dismay. He scanned his younger brother up and down, noting his disheveled appearance. 

“I told Father that I sent you to meet with the Kingdom of Knox,” Ichiji said pointedly. A beat of silence followed him. He didn’t move from his cross-legged position on his chair. The blacks of his glasses bore into Yonji’s scrunched brow.

“Why?” The word tumbled from Yonji’s lips. 

Ichiji, after all, wasn’t known to be the charitable type, even to his brothers. He was, however, known to be straightforward. 

“I wanted to talk some sense into you before you did something idiotic,” Ichiji said, finally rising from his seat to approach Yonji. Ichiji strode across the velvet carpeting, the light illuminating from the open throne room doors highlighting his sharp features harshly. He stopped just a few feet in front of his brother. “Where were you this morning?” 

A simmering breath ruminated in Yonji’s throat. He looked off to the side. 

“You know where,” Yonji gritted. There was no use lying. 

“I can’t say I do,” Ichiji quickly retorted. “The servants couldn’t find you in your quarters, you were not in your tower, and you were nowhere to be found in any inch of the library.” From how the light behind him was angled, Yonji could barely make out half of Ichiji’s stark blue iris from behind his glasses. Ichiji’s scowl deepened. “Although, I was told you could be heard from the servant’s quarters late last night.”

“Like you haven’t—”

“Not in the servant’s quarters, I have not.” Ichiji shut down the thought before Yonji could even finish speaking it aloud. Ichiji began to walk around him, scrutinizing his younger brother with his hands clasped behind his back. His ever-present scowl lingered. “You’ve grown sloppy. Sloppier than you usually are, and to lower yourself in the way you have been is appalling to watch.”

Ichiji circled back around to Yonji’s front, seeming even more dismayed than when he was last there. He nodded slightly as if his neck was stiff and required oil. But it was clear that his nod was not to be confused with permissiveness.

“You’re spending too much time in the library. We all think so.” 

And by all, Ichiji was, of course, referring to Niji and himself. Reiju always seemed to disappear midway through Ichiji’s complaints, and he didn’t value her opinion highly enough to feel a loss in her absence. And as de facto— or perhaps self-appointed— leader out of all his siblings, Ichiji tended to prefer taking charge of their affairs and dramatics rather than reporting straight to their father. Ichiji liked the exercise in superiority, and by not handling the dramatics, Judge got to see his children as little more than perfect science projects. It was a win-win. 

Yonji huffed and puffed out his chest, swiveling his head proudly with an upturned nose. 

“What? You think I can’t be brains and brawn?” Yonji rolled his eyes with a smirk. He raised an oversized bicep and flexed it for emphasis. “Who knows, at this rate, I could be the next king of Germa when Pops kicks the bucket.”

“This isn’t a time for joking,” Ichiji said sternly. Despite Ichiji’s ego, his brother’s claims about being crowned the next king of Germa were so laughable as to be too ridiculous to humor with vitriol. 

Yonji’s nose remained upturned, mouth as obnoxiously wide as usual to spit childish retorts. He had already raised his other arm, flexing grandly with little regard for the seriousness Ichiji was trying to convey. 

“I’m not joking,” Yonji taunted childishly. 

Ichiji allowed him to continue his antics for a moment, watching on with his usual stoicism. Yonji rambled. He rambled about something, lightly jabbing at Ichiji.

“You’re attached.” 

It took less than a second for Yonji’s shoulders to go rigid. His gaze snapped toward Ichiji’s dark glasses as his cocky smirk quickly melted into a scowl. His nose crinkled up into a mild snarl. Ichiji observed him plainly, silently making judgments and critical notes in his head. 

Yonji could deflect and claim that he was in the library for learning purposes all he liked.

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Yonji scoffed. His arms only tightened across his chest, shoulders puffing out. “Attached to a few books—?”

“Fucking hell. Cut the shit, Yonji.” Ichiji barked flatly. His hand flew across his brother’s cheek, causing Yonji to stumble where he stood. 

He caught his balance by bending his right knee, acutely crouching in on himself as he cupped his face. When he rose, a few light green hairs fell over his forehead, only serving to dishevel Yonji’s already acutely messy bedhead. 

As Yonji swiped his hand across his face, blood stained the pale skin. He inspected the red streak before gazing at Ichiji incredulously. Yonji gradually rose to his full height. 

Niji was prone to fits of sadism and petty rage in response to insults, and Yonji was often far too distractible and impulsive when it came to getting his buttons pushed. In fact, Yonji wore his limited expressions on his face the most, but not Ichiji. Unlike his brothers, Ichiji remained flat. 

Even as Ichiji spoke your name, and he did so forcefully, his voice was devoid of a nameable emotion. 

“You’re getting far too attached for someone of your stature. It’s pathetic.” Ichiji scowled. “You’re a prince of the Germa Kingdom. Act like it.”

A sobering expression blanketed Yonji’s face. Tiny droplets of blood trickled down his nose. 

“Yeah, you’re right about one thing,” he grumbled, all semblance of cockiness having drained from his face. “I am a prince of Germa. So the fuck does it matter to you what I do with my servants?”

Yonji stepped forward, shoving Ichiji harshly. Ichiji stumbled a half step back.

“Servants, plural. I wouldn’t give a shit if you were fucking around with your staff, but you’ve singled out one servant—” Ichiji jutted out a pointed finger.

“A pet, Ichiji.” Yonji’s arms returned to his chest as he rolled his eyes.

— “Banished the help from your castle—” He gestured curtly somewhere in the general direction of Yonji’s fleet, pushing Yonji back with his other hand. 

“Those idiots couldn’t do a damn thing right.” 

— “To play, what, house?” Ichiji spat, pushing Yonji one more time. 

Ichiji’s expression remained almost perfectly intact. His eyes were cold behind his opaque glasses, and his mouth continued to frown neutrally. 

He held his hands in fists at his sides. His jaw clenched just tightly enough to strain the perfectly taut skin of his cheeks. It was a slight crack in his cold exterior, but Yonji knew well enough that Ichiji was barely restraining rage. Ichiji was, after all, never fond of things he didn’t understand. 

“I should’ve killed that book rat when I had the chance.” Ichiji pushed past Yonji, his long strides making straight for the throne room doors. 

Yonji whipped around, already following in tow. 

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Yonji’s hand shot out to grasp Ichiji’s shoulder. His fingers gripped the black fabric of Ichiji’s shirt for half a moment before Ichiji jerked away, spinning on his heel. He slapped Yonji’s hand with enough force to make it ring out across the room.

“Yonji, stand down.”

Yonji cocked his fist, slamming it squarely into Ichiji’s jaw. Ichiji’s neck bent with the force before swiftly returning to his upright, defensive posture. Light bruising began to swell on his face. It was a hit only Yonji could execute. 

Yonji frowned, fists still balled. 

“You gave me that one.” He growled, his chest inflating with an agitated breath. He lowered his center of gravity, gearing up to strike again. 

Ichiji huffed, squaring up himself. 

“What kind of king would I be if I backed down from my brat kid brother?” Ichiji swept his fist up into a low uppercut. The strike was charged with crimson-red energy that hit Yonji square below his rib cage. 

While Ichiji didn’t don his raid suit, his ability to muster his infamous red sparks didn’t falter. The suit only served to enhance what was already there, and in the face of his younger, less wise brother, fighting with his suit would have been too much of a sign of respect. 

Yonji grunted but thought quickly enough to take advantage of the proximity to duck down. He rushed Ichiji, ramming his torso with his shoulder. But before Yonji could wrap his arms around him to execute his takedown, Ichiji slid out of Yonji’s grip to propel himself up. 

He rolled down Yonji’s lower back, landing with his hands on the floor to launch into a wide-swinging kick. Yonji raised both his forearms to block it, his wrists nearly touching his ear at the force of the strike. He remained braced where he stood, not moving an inch at an impact that would’ve sent anyone else flying. It was as expected of Germa’s genetically engineered tank. 

 Yonji grasped Ichiji’s ankle in a crushing grip, bending his left knee to heave the entire weight of his brother up and toward the ground. But for Yonji’s monstrous brute strength, Ichiji’s speed far outmatched him. Ichiji landed a swift kick to Yonji’s cheek with his free foot, spinning his ankle out of Yonji’s grip. Still mid-air, he maneuvered himself upside down to land a sparking punch on Yonji’s torso yet again. 

Ichiji recovered gracefully from the recoil, skidding backward on his feet as he poised himself for more. Yonji, meanwhile, slammed back-first into the adjacent wall. 

He stood in the dent he had created, the stone wall crumbling behind him as Ichiji slowly moved forward. His nose crinkled at the dull pain in his shoulder. He looked toward his older brother, lowering his center of gravity again as he assumed a fighting stance.

But much to Yonji’s surprise, Ichiji’s posture quickly melted. He brushed Yonji off with little regard and made unceremoniously for the still-open doors. Yonji stepped out into the middle of the throne room as Ichiji walked, paying little attention to the crumbling structure he had left in his wake. 

“We’re not done yet!” he shouted after Ichiji.

Ichiji didn’t even turn around to reply. Instead, he held up a hand as he continued to walk out of the throne room. 

“You don’t even have your raid suit on. You’re not worth my time.” He shoved his hands in his pockets for good measure, ignoring the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps behind him. 

Yonji cocked his arm, gearing up for a decimating blow, but Ichiji was far too fast. Ichiji had Yonji’s arm in his grasp in an instant, and it took less than a second for Yonji’s back to meet the hard tile floor. 

It cracked under him, leaving another Yonji-sized crater in the throne room. Yonji grunted. Without time to properly brace himself, this hit stung worse than the last. 

“Stop making a nuisance of yourself,” Ichiji stressed, letting out a bored sigh. He finally left the room, leaving Yonji seething on the floor. 

***

It was another day in a summer climate. The sun shone warm light onto the sea, warming the air but not making it hot. The breeze that sailed by wisped just enough to make it worthwhile to open the windows. 

With Prince Yonji having left in a hurry earlier that morning, you were eager to start on chores. Despite how slow affairs tended to be on the library ship, your half-day sleeping-in left you with an unsettling feeling. And so, you donned simple attire to perform some light cleaning. 

You began by opening the few windows that the tower boasted, tethering the iron hooks on the inside of the window to circular hook holds on the tower’s stone exterior. The large windows in the southern tower’s main chamber had to be cranked open by hand, and even so, they didn’t open all the way. But they opened just enough to let the breeze in, where it could sail through the open double doors and into the tower halls. 

You had just begun to tie the right-hand door of the southern tower open when you caught a glimpse of green hair in the distance. You left the other door, creeping out from the overpass that bridged the two archival towers.

The courtyard just outside the windows of the main chamber of the southern tower lacked frills to enjoy. It was mostly a decent expanse of healthy, well-maintained, green grass. The base of the tower was lined with a quaint trail of mulch for a few perennial flowers. But Yonji didn’t seem to mind that the courtyard only boasted a few evenly placed shrubs.

He sat a short distance away on the grass, one leg sprawled out in front of him while the other bent for him to rest his elbow on. Yonji stared off into the distance at the rolling waves. The curve of his slouch almost made him look downtrodden, an expression that didn’t appear helped by how he grasped the grass near his left hand. 

You approached him quietly, positioning yourself back and to his left a short distance away. Yonji already knew you were there, but you didn’t dare get too close without his order. 

And so you stood, apron waving slightly in the wind. The back of the bandana you had put on for chores dislodged from its tie to twitch back and forth. The ship rocked gently beneath your feet, and sunlight glinted off the library tower’s open windows.

“Are ya just gonna stand there?” Yonji gruffed, ripping out another tuft of grass from the ground. He ripped out as many as his large hand could grasp. The roots still held onto the dirt, creating a chunk of earth in Yonji’s palm. 

You took his words as an invitation to approach, and you quietly sat beside him on the other side of the grassless hole. He continued to fidget, staining his hands green. 

“Did you make it to breakfast?” you asked. Yonji scoffed.

“Fuck no.” He ripped another clot of ground up. Yonji shook it, causing particles of dirt to fly into the air. “Got into a fight with my asshole brother.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyeing the horizon in the distance. The sea, indeed, seemed to stretch on forever. And when it came to days like this, where the sky was equally as blue, you could almost believe that the Germa Kingdom was all there was to the world. 

“Do you mind if I ask what about?” You flipped a clot of grass over so that the roots faced downward. You toyed with it, trying to line it up with the edge of the crater. And if you pushed just hard enough, it looked as though it had never been ripped up in the first place.

“Dumb assignment stuff,” Yonji lied, tearing a bundle of roots apart.

“That’s not like you,” you hummed, your tone light.

“What makes you say that?” 

Your eyes hadn’t met once. 

You took a few small stray bundles and lined them up nicely in the crevice of your crudely replanted clot. They filled in a sliver between the clot and the crater's edge, but their uneven placement didn’t make them look as natural as before.

You shrugged.

“You usually don’t fight with Master Ichiji.” 

Yonji continued to grope around the crater's perimeter, tearing up more green blades as the dirt hole grew steadily bigger. A pile of grass and dirt grew proportionately around Yonji’s form. 

“How’d you know it was Ichiji?” He scrunched his face. 

You shrugged.

“I think I know you pretty well by now, Prince Yonji.” 

He threw a clump of dirt onto your knee. Particles broke off from the light impact, tumbling down your leg and back down into the hole. 

That was when you met his eye. You looked up at his frown and acutely lidded gaze. Yonji wasn’t one to be in deep thought often, but when he was, he wore it on his face like the rest of his limited emotions. 

“Knock that shit off.”

You hummed.

“I know you well, Yonji,” you corrected. It seemed as though his insistence would stick. With how fickle he tended to be, you couldn’t help but be acutely surprised that he continued to be adamant about you using his informal name. 

Yonji didn’t dwell on the matter, seeming to forget it as he stared toward the horizon. The sun glinted off the surface of the waves, making them difficult to look at. You followed Yonji’s gaze from the sea back to his dark irises. 

The skin around his eyes only creased slightly, his squinting from the sun far more subtle than yours. It must be wonderful to be biologically engineered to never deal with so many of life’s inconveniences. 

“Ya ever think that the ocean is kinda boring?” he asked suddenly. His nose scrunched up more than his eyes did.

“What makes you say that?” 

Yonji shrugged. 

“No matter where you go, the ocean always looks the same,” he answered. He pulled his knees toward his chest, wrapping his arms loosely around them. “Now, don’t get me wrong; blowing shit up into the sea is sick as fuck, but—” Yonji half crossed his arms over his knees, using one propped-up palm to rest the side of his face. — “You can really do that from anywhere.”

”Sure,” you hummed. You laid back, sinking into the lush grass behind you. Yonji turned, a palm now in the dirt hole propping him up. His brows rose by the slightest centimeter. 

You brought both your hands to rest on your stomach. Your fingers weaved together, and Yonji couldn’t help but think you looked like one of those ancient warrior’s tombs. All you needed was a sword. 

“I spent most of my life up to now on land, so this has been more or less an adventure for me,” you said, looking up at the blue sky overhead. The atmosphere above was so clear it was also almost a little difficult to look at. 

“Right,” Yonji stressed, shifting himself to lie beside you. His side met the very edge of the dirt crater he made. His white shirt, still the one he wore from the day prior, would surely need to go through some heavy cleaning for the dirt and grass stains. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“Is that important?” you asked.

“I guess not,” Yonji admitted without much thought. 

His head turned acutely to the left so he could stare at the shape of your face. As you stared directly up, the outline of your nose and chin was defined. Weak, natural, and untampered muscles sat below humanly fragile skin. And yet, Yonji could find little to stick his nose up at.

Yonji could trace the shape of your lips with his eyes and determine the length of each individual eyelash by sight alone. He could tell the exact hexadecimal color code of your skin and your hair. Yonji didn’t realize how much of you he had memorized, down to the difference in color between your top and bottom lip and where the skin of them met your cheeks. 

Grass wavered around you still, and the sun highlighted your form in warm light. You plucked a blade from next to your hip to place between your thumbs. You brought it up to your lips, and with a blow came a high-pitched whistle. 

“The hell’d you learn that?” Yonji laughed. He sat up suddenly, supported on his left side by his bent elbow. Yonji grinned, beaming wide with barely restrained amusement. 

You tooted the little grass whistle again, and Yonji nearly fell back into the grass with laughter. 

“Let me try! Let me try that,” he said hurriedly, motioning toward the blade of grass in your fingers. You sat up, relinquishing it to him.

Yonji held it haphazardly in his grip, and as the two of you could have expected, the moment he blew, the blade launched up into the air at the velocity of a bullet. You barely even saw it, only being able to see the slightest wisp of disturbance in the air. Yonji grunted in annoyance, looking at his hands as if he hadn’t just shot the plucked plant into the stratosphere.

You let out a light laugh, picking another from the lawn below.

“You have to hold it,” you giggled, “And you can’t blow so hard!” 

You grasped his hands in your own, lining the piece of grass up between his thumbs. He dropped it a few times, and the pads of his fingers would slip. His hands were big, and his fingers weren’t used to working with things with precision. But as you worked on helping him, you neglected to notice the deep shade of pink that stained his pale ears. 

“Okay, now hold it up to your lips.”

Neither of you noticed Ichiji standing in the shade under the underpass that connected the two library towers. His hands sat in the pockets of his white slacks.

***

That evening wasn’t too different than usual. Yonji retired early for the evening, and you sat on your usual chair in the library. Your supper was being prepared downstairs, and while the cook was busy, you entertained his son and daughter as usual. 

It was rather cheeky of you, Ichiji thought, to be using the exact book he told you to do away with. But unlike his prior inspection, Ichiji didn’t interrupt or step foot in the southern chamber. 

Instead, he sat just outside the open double doors. The golden light that radiated from the library beamed out into the dark hallway just a meter or so to Ichiji’s left. And not too long later, that was how Yonji found him.

Ichiji sat with his back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him. He just barely bowed his head. Yonji paused at the sight of him, keeping his eyes locked on his older brother as he closed the main doors behind him. Ichiji hardly regarded him, sparing only a fleeting glance toward his younger brother before returning his attention elsewhere. 

Yonji didn’t think much of it, striding silently across the thick strip of red velvet carpeting to sit next to Ichiji. Yonji sat with almost his entire back against the cold stone wall, from his tailbone to his broad shoulders. He leaned his head back, resting his wrists over his bent knees. 

Your voice flowed softly out into the hallway.

“Feeling sentimental, huh, Ichiji?” Yonji sighed, his voice not quite a whisper. He tilted his head to eye Ichiji from the side. Yonji’s hair dragged against the stone behind him. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

And for just a moment, all that could be heard in the library tower was the faint sound of you reading. You were in the middle of a story that both Ichiji and Yonji must’ve listened to a thousand times before. If he wanted to, Ichiji could have mouthed the words as you spoke them. 

“That’s not very kingly of you,” Yonji jabbed, although a sincere malice couldn’t be found in the undertone of his words. 

Ichiji stared down at the floor just short of the opposite wall. He didn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts. He ran his hands through the hair on the side of his head, pulling his knees toward his chest to hold his head in his hands. 

“You’re still an idiot,” he sighed, dropping his left hand to his right elbow. 

Yonji glanced at him, looking him over once judgmentally before returning his gaze to the ceiling. He sprawled his legs out, and his folded fingers sat neatly in his lap. Yonji had traced the insignificant patterns on the ceiling many times before, tracing them to the background noise of your voice. 

Ichiji could have guessed as much the moment he spotted the book of stories in the library. He did know as much, and that’s why he supposed both he and Yonji were here: outside in the hallway listening as a little boy and a little girl were read the same stories they heard from a similar hallway so long ago.

“When don’t ya think that?” Yonji snickered softly.

Ichiji’s fingers left his hair, and somewhat miraculously, the tousling didn’t make the overall style noticeably different. His arms extended lazily, draping over the tops of his knees. His index fingers were loosely intertwined. 

“This is all still a mess.” Ichiji shook his head, ever serious. “You know I can’t allow this to continue.” 

Yonji scoffed.

“You’re always takin’ something too seriously, aren’t you, Ichiji?” he yawned. 

“And you’re clearly not taking things seriously enough,” Ichiji snapped. He broke his whisper for a fraction of a second, and the volume was just enough for you to pause in the library. He and Yonji paused, glancing toward the door.

Wordlessly, both men kept their eyes on the shadows cast onto the floor of the hallway just outside the chamber. Both acutely but visibly deflated in relief as you began reading again. 

Ichiji stood, and Yonji followed suit. Ichiji stepped toward the main doors out of the southern tower, but Yonji stepped to the side, using half his body to obstruct Ichiji’s path. Yonji grabbed him by the shoulder, the force of which was harsh. 

“I dunno, Ichiji, I’m kinda serious about something myself,” he asserted, leaning just a fraction to meet Ichiji’s stare. While all the Vinsmoke boys were rather tall, Yonji was the tallest despite being the youngest. It was something he liked to bring attention to often, no matter how passively. “I decided I kinda like this place—”

“No shit.”

— “And it’s mine. Drop it, Ichiji. Let me have my fun,” Yonji said nonchalantly. Ichiji shook him off from his shoulder, causing Yonji to scowl. “You know I’m not a fan of sharing toys.”

A red spark flashed across Ichiji’s dark glasses. The corner of his lip twitched downward into a severe frown. He squared his shoulders. 

“You’re deeper than I thought,” Ichiji gritted, “I thought we were over this. Don’t make me burn this place to the ground.” 

Yonji cranked his arm backward, a loud pop resounding through the hall. He turned his nose up smugly, a battle-hungry grin already contorting his lips. A wild expression glinted in his eye. 

“Fuck with me, and we can put our suits on and duke it out for real.” Yonji stepped forward. He took a swing at Ichiji but was swiftly dodged as Ichiji moved back. 

“God, you’re pathetic,” Ichiji grunted. At what appeared to be the speed of light, Ichiji’s fist connected with Yonji’s cheek. But unlike the strikes from earlier, Yonji stood his ground, hardly moving as Ichiji recoiled from the force. Yonji cracked a twisted smile. 

“Heh, we’re really siblings after all…” 

Yonji ducked, tackling Ichiji at an equally swift speed. Ichiji’s back slammed into the stone wall of the hallway. He hit with a loud boom, and the hole that was made in the wall surely must’ve threatened the tower’s structural integrity. 

“That’s for earlier,” Yonji gritted amongst the chaos. 

Neither of them could hardly hear your shoes scurry to the doorway of the southern chamber. 

“Prince Yonji! Master Ichiji!” you gasped. 

Yonji’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. He still had Ichiji’s shirt balled up in his hands, forcing him down to the floor. Ichiji radiated sparking red energy, landing substantial blows to Yonji’s sides, although Yonji hardly appeared to react. 

“Get out of here!” he barked at you. 

You jumped in surprise, almost frozen. But it hardly took a moment to register what he said. You didn’t even acknowledge him, immediately running back into the library to collect the two children. 

It wasn’t a move Yonji was necessarily thrilled with. After all, he didn’t give too much of a shit about two random brats, but scolding you could wait. 

Ichiji brought up a knee, slamming it directly into Yonji’s stomach, finally freeing him from his younger brother’s grasp. 

You had one kid by the hand and the other uncomfortably in your opposite arm. Wrangling both of them with one arm each was almost impossible. You could usually hold them individually, but they seemed to only grow by the day. 

The weight of the two children strained the muscles in your arms, a hot burning sensation overtaking you as you heard crashing behind you. Every time Yonji and Ichiji exchanged blows, it rang out as loud as a gunshot. It made you jump every time, your body twitching as you tried to breathe in and out. 

The hallway from the chamber to the door wasn’t very long, and despite your fatigue, you knew you could make it out. That is until you saw your shadow cast out in front of you. 

The shape of the shadow was a giant, amorphous blob with two circles at the top and four sticks at the bottom: two long and two short. And you could only watch in horror as the shadow grew longer and the light just behind you brighter. 

You turned your head, unable to even widen your eyes in shock in the face of the enormous stream of crimson, electric energy bounding toward you. The door was barely ajar, just a stride too far before you. Just wide enough for a child to fit through. 

Without a second to spare, you threw the child whose hand you were holding through the opening, using all your strength to force her outside by the arm. That was all you had time for. The white light grew closer in that half second, and you grasped the boy in both your arms, turning to shield him with your body. 

And somehow, you had hoped the stray electricity wouldn’t hit you. You knew it wouldn’t. 

You opened your eyes, and Yonji stood in front of you. His broad back blocked Ichiji from your view. Little red sparks danced around him, but Yonji brushed them off like little dust clouds. 

You could have laughed, the slightest grin of relief threatening to show on your lips. How did you know?

You slipped through the door, collecting the little girl crying on the pavement as you retreated. You were given enough time to run to safety, now with two hysterical children.

***

To your surprise, the southern tower remained largely intact. Other than the Ichiji-sized crater in the wall, the most damage was primarily reserved for easily replaceable fixtures like sconces and the carpet. 

When you first entered the tower again, you could tell that a scuffle had taken place, but other than the apparent damage, everything else appeared intact. You even did a lap around the main chamber, finding none of the books or furniture touched. 

You weren’t able to see Yonji until the morning. You tried to visit his chambers later that evening, but even in the dead of the night, his room was empty. Tower Yonji was eerily quiet, and you spent an exhaustive amount of time waiting for Yonji’s return before you finally retreated back to the library tower. 

But when you returned in the morning, he was there: soundly asleep in his bed, exactly like any other day. And so, you treated it like any other day.

You peeled back the curtains on either side of his massive, king-sized bed and began sifting through the section of garments he had in his wardrobe. You didn’t give him options that morning, laying out an undershirt, a white, ruffled button-up, dark slacks, and a red half cape. 

Even with the influx of morning light, Yonji was still more asleep than awake. You peeled the covers off him and, with great strength, urged him to sit up. You grabbed his hands, leaning on the carpet and digging your heels in to get him up. 

Yonji was groggier than usual, and the redness of his busted lip didn’t escape you. 

“You didn’t take care of yourself,” you scolded, your voice softer than any reprimand Yonji had ever heard. You clutched the side of his face, running your thumb just below his bottom lip. Yonji let out a quiet hiss. “You can’t show up to your meeting like this.” 

Yonji watched as your shadow passed, a quick little blur in his groggy vision. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. His green strands immediately assumed their usual styling, appearing as perfect as usual. 

When you came back, you brought a small face towel, a bowl of warm water, and some ointment. You wet the towel, squeezing it out before bringing it to Yonji’s face. He sat at the edge of the bed, legs slung over the side and blankets still draped over his left leg. You cleaned his face, wiping away residual dirt and oil before focusing on his lip. 

It was mostly healed, and you suspected it would be entirely gone by the afternoon, but even so, you patted around his wound with your towel before drying it and applying a bit of ointment. You sat on the bed beside him, leaning in close in concentration. But for all your concentration, you missed the look of apparent, frozen surprise on Yonji’s face. 

“You know that stuff doesn’t work on me…” Yonji finally cracked a smile, gingerly taking your hand to pull it away from his lip. In doing so, you smeared a little bit of ointment across his cheek. “Human medicine and all that.” His curly brows bounced at the notion.

“You’re human.” You frowned, face scrunching up in confusion at his assertion. 

Yonji pressed your hand into the sheets, fingers still intertwined in yours. 

“I don’t know whether to take that as an insult,” he grumbled lightly, his touch slipping from you as he stood. You stood with him, picking up the white shirt you laid out. 

“Why would it be?” you asked. To your surprise, Yonji had already slipped his slacks on and was tugging the undershirt over his head. You took the shirt off the hanger, holding it out by the inside of the shoulders like a jacket. Yonji turned around, leaning slightly to slip his arms through the sleeves. “If you weren’t human, what would you be then? Some sort of beast?” You laughed. 

Yonji turned to allow you to button his shirt. The corner of his lip dipped at the thought. 

“It might be a closer comparison,” he huffed. 

“Beasts don’t get to read books,” you hummed triumphantly, tugging the collar of his shirt to straighten it out. You plucked his cape from the bed. Yonji watched as you unclasped the golden chords, swirling it over the back of his shoulders with a swift flick of your wrists before clasping it over his chest. 

You began to move somewhere else in the room. Yonji stopped, spinning in a circle to catch sight of you again.

“Uh,” he started, starting off in your direction. “How are the little ankle biters?” 

“The what?” You stepped back, milling off toward the private bathroom to your left. Yonji followed.

“Ya know,” he stressed, somewhat resistant to clarifying. “The little brats.”

By the time he looked at you directly, you had his toothbrush in hand. A dollop of toothpaste was already spread across the bristles. You held it out to him, head cocked. 

“Oh, right…” It was your turn to glance away. You knew that Yonji knew of the cook’s children, but the topic of kids in the kingdom wasn’t a popular one. While they weren’t banned, the royal family wasn’t exactly known to be tolerant of little ones. “They’re fine.” 

Yonji grabbed the brush from your hand, shooing you out of the way so that he could stand in front of the massive, ornamental sink. 

“You sure?” he asked, voice muffled. He glanced at you through the mirror. 

“A little shaken,” you admitted, “But kids are resilient… Thank you for asking.” 

Yonji hummed, spitting into the sink before retiring his toothbrush to the waste bin. He bobbed his head in noncommittal agreement. You tried to move out of Yonji’s way, stepping to the side to let him through, but Yonji appeared to have other ideas. 

A mischievous grin covered his lips as he very obviously glanced you over. 

“So,” Yonji started suddenly. He walked toward you, and you backed up until Yonji came to stand in the doorway. He leaned his side against it, raising his arm to rest near the top of the doorframe. His other hand sat in his pants pocket, but he seemed to tower over you all the same. “Do you want brats?”

“I, uh, I never thought about it,” you laughed nervously. “I don’t actually—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fuckin’ with you.” Yonji took your face between his index finger and his thumb, bumping the bottom of your chin before brushing past you. You had to stand still a moment in stunned silence to recover from the way the air left your lungs. Yonji carried on with his self-satisfied smirk somewhere behind you. No matter what, he would never get sick of that expression… “So what the hell were you saying about a meeting?”

“Right!” You spun around. “I was informed only this morning that the kingdom is expecting visitors. I am to lead you to the main docks in anticipation of their arrival.” 

“I was wondering why you looked like that,” Yonji said. Your hand instinctively flew up to your face. You indeed wore a nicer uniform than usual, but you couldn’t tell how critical Yonji’s comment was. But he appeared to be far less concerned about your appearance than you were as he was already making his way to the doors. “Do you know who it is?”

“I was not informed,” you answered, chasing after his long-legged stride. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

***

By the time you reached the port, the other Vinsmoke siblings and their personal attendants were already there. Judge Vinsmoke was also present, towering over his children as they collectively watched a ship off in the distance. 

“Way to barely make it,” Reiju scolded as Yonji joined the neat line his siblings formed. He stood straight, saying nothing as the ship gradually grew closer. 

Servants and workers of both parties ran about the area, preparing to dock the large ship on the Germa coast. It was a grand, ornate vessel that spared little in elegant decor. It was a dark, royal blue with what appeared to be white, handcrafted ornamentation. The pristine sails boasted a golden symbol you could have sworn you’d seen before. 

But you didn’t have to wait in anticipation for too long. The ship finally docked, and a long, lavish ramp extended from the vessel to the dock. 

An elegant figure appeared at the top of the ramp, surrounded by numerous attendees.

“Presenting Princess Ursula of the North Blue!”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I was kinda dragging my feet with this chapter, but @sansic8 's comment on the last chapter made me so motivated that I sat down, wrote the last of this chapter, and edited it to come out asap. Thank you to everyone who continues to follow this story. I believe we will be officially wrapping up in the next few chapters (5 maybe? max?). It is the beginning of the end!