For Portgas D. Ace, the silence was a physical blow. He stood frozen, his eyes locked on the impossible figure who had just stepped into the light.
The top hat. The blond curls. The steel pipe.
Sabo.
The name was not a thought; it was a past, a memory from a life he thought was buried under a decade of fire and grief. Kenji's knowledge —Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army—but Ace's heart violently rejected them. His heart only saw the gap-toothed grin of a boy in a junkyard, the third cup of sake raised in a sacred vow. He was staring at the crossed-out "S" on his arm, a wound that had never healed, now given flesh and blood and standing ten feet away.
"Ace…?"
Sabo's voice was a choked, broken whisper, a sound of pure, soul-shattering disbelief that somehow cut across the entire, silent arena.
Ace didn't answer. He couldn't. His mind, a fusion of two, was at war with itself. He took a single, stumbling step forward, his kingly composure, the hard-won calm he had forged in the hell of his training, shattering into a million pieces.
The reunion of pasts was a spectacle that baffled everyone. The giants stared, their stern faces etched with confusion. The Big Mom pirates murmured, trying to understand the significance of this newcomer who had just emotionally disarmed their fearsome opponent. Charlotte Linlin herself watched with a sharp, calculating curiosity, her gluttonous appetites momentarily forgotten.
Only two people on the field truly understood. On the Revolutionary ship, Koala watched with tears welling in her eyes, her hand covering her mouth. Beside her, Nico Robin simply smiled, a small, knowing expression on her face. The chaotic, unpredictable threads of fate were weaving a beautiful, dangerous tapestry.
"Sabo…?" Ace finally managed to say, his voice a raw, unfamiliar thing he barely recognized as his own. "You're… alive"
Before Sabo could answer, a massive, booming voice, filled with the impatience of a god, ripped the moment apart.
"ENOUGH!"
Regent Jarl roared, his patience for the outsiders' drama completely gone. He slammed the butt of his massive spear on the ground, the impact shaking the very rock of Elbaf. "The sacred laws of the Davy Back Fight have been invoked! The first contest is complete! The judgment will now be rendered!"
The spell was broken. The world crashed back into motion. Two teams of giant judges, their faces as stern and unreadable as ancient stone, stomped forward. Before them sat two cakes, two culinary masterpieces that represented the pride of their respective crews.
On one side was Streusen's creation: a towering, magnificent croquembouche, a mountain of perfectly spun sugar and cream puffs that seemed to defy gravity, shimmering with an almost magical light.
On the other was Zeff and Bonney's cake. It was simpler. More rustic. A single, perfect, golden-brown pound cake, infused with sea salt and aged rum, topped with a dollop of cream so rich it was the color of old ivory, and a single, perfect, sun-ripened berry that Bonney had aged to its absolute peak of flavor. It didn't shimmer with magic. It radiated warmth. It smelled of home.
The giants tasted Streusen's cake first. Their faces were impassive. "Sweet," one grunted. "Skillful."
Then, they tasted Zeff's.
A profound silence fell over the judges. The lead giant, a warrior with a beard as old as the World Tree, closed his eyes. A single, massive tear rolled down his weathered cheek and splashed onto the ground with a soft thud.
He opened his eyes and looked not at the pirates, but at the sky. "This…" his voice was a low, reverent rumble. "This is the taste of a long journey's end. The taste of returning home after a hundred years at sea. This is the taste of a warrior's joy."
He turned, and his gaze was absolute. "The winner is the Burning Crown Pirates!"
A deafening roar erupted from Ace's crew. Zeff just scoffed, turning away to hide the proud, fierce grin on his face. Bonney leaped into the air with a shriek of pure, triumphant joy.
Big Mom's face turned a dangerous, mottled purple. "INCONCEIVABLE!" she bellowed, her voice a storm of pure, childish rage. "My cake is perfect! How could you choose that… that peasant's loaf?!"
"Your cake was a sweet for a child's party," the giant judge replied, his voice cold and dismissive. "Theirs was a feast for a king's soul. The judgment is final."
Ace stepped forward, his personal turmoil momentarily pushed aside by the duty of a captain. He had won. Now, he had to choose his prize. He could take a Sweet Commander, crippling Big Mom's power. He could take a Poneglyph rubbing.
He looked at the furious, enraged face of the Yonko. He looked at her children, standing behind her, a mixture of fear and loyalty in their eyes. And then he looked at Sabo, at the ghost of his brother, and a new, wild, and utterly insane plan, a plan born not of strategy but of pure, chaotic love, sparked in his mind.
He pointed, not at Katakuri, not at Smoothie, not at a chest of treasure.
He pointed at a tall, slender woman with long, light-pink hair, her third eye hidden beneath her bangs. A woman known for her kindness, her love of her family, and her unique Devil Fruit.
"I choose her," Ace declared, his voice ringing out across the silent arena. "I choose Charlotte Pudding."
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