Inside their own small, sterile bathroom, Nami and Nogiko stood under the lukewarm spray of the shower.

The water did little to wash away the feeling of grime. Nami scrubbed at her skin, as if she could erase the memory of the sounds, the sights, the raw, brutal intimacy she had inadvertently witnessed.

"I feel sick," Nogiko whispered, her voice barely audible over the shower’s hiss.

"Me too," Nami admitted, her throat tight. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through her.

They finished their hurried wash, dressing quickly in fresh clothes, their movements stiff and awkward. The air outside the bathroom felt even heavier than before. As they emerged, the sounds from the other bathroom reached them, louder now, more insistent.

A low, guttural moan, unmistakably Bellemere’s, cut through the quiet house. Then another, higher-pitched, more desperate. Robin’s.

Nami’s eyes snapped open. Nogiko froze, her hand halfway to the doorknob. The sounds were no longer muffled. They were clear, raw, unmistakable.

"What... what is that?" Nogiko breathed, her face draining of color once more.

Nami didn’t answer. She knew exactly what it was. The same sounds, but amplified, multiplied. A cold curiosity, morbid and terrifying, pulled her towards the source.

She moved silently, Nogiko following her, a shadow. They crept down the short hallway, drawn by the insistent rhythm of moans and wet, slapping sounds.

The light from the second bathroom spilled out, a golden invitation. They reached the door, pushing it open just a crack. The scent of sex, stronger than before, hit them like a physical blow. It was cloying, intoxicating, terrifying.

Through the narrow opening, they saw a scene that would forever scar their young minds.

Bellemere was on her knees, her back to them, her hips swaying. Her head bobbed, a rhythmic motion, her hair, still damp, brushing against something dark and thick. Lakeman stood before her, his back to the door, his hips thrusting. A low groan rumbled from his chest.

But it was Robin who held their gaze. She was pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped around Lakeman’s waist, her arms locked around his neck. Her head was thrown back, a wild, ecstatic expression on her face. Her mouth was open, a guttural cry tearing from her throat as Lakeman drove into her.

"Ah... ahh... oh, god... yes... more..." Robin’s voice, usually so controlled, was raw, guttural, completely lost in pleasure.

Nami’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes were fixed on the point where Lakeman’s hips met Robin’s. A wet, rhythmic *shlicking* sound filled the air, punctuated by the soft *thud* of flesh against flesh.

Then, Bellemere shifted. Her head lifted, and in her mouth, glistening with saliva, was Lakeman’s cock. Her tongue swirled around the thick shaft, then she descended again, her lips closing around him with a soft, wet *slurp*.

Nami’s stomach lurched. Her mind screamed in protest, but her eyes remained transfixed. She saw the head of Lakeman’s cock disappear into Bellemere’s mouth, then emerge, slick and shiny, only to plunge back in again.

"Oh... yes... that’s it, Bellemere," Lakeman grunted, his voice thick with lust. He gripped Robin’s ass, pulling her even tighter against him, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Fuck... you’re so tight, Robin... so good..."

Robin gasped, a sharp, broken sound. Her body arched, her back bowing. Her nipples, dark and engorged, brushed against Lakeman’s chest. "Harder... please... harder..." she whimpered, her voice barely recognizable.

Pah-Pah-Pah-Pah.

Nami watched, a strange mix of horror and fascination gripping her. She saw the way Lakeman’s balls slapped against Robin’s ass with each powerful thrust. The sounds were overwhelming: the wet *squelch* of his cock entering and leaving Robin, the soft *thwack* of his balls, Bellemere’s rhythmic slurping, and the desperate, breathless moans of both women.

Her mother, Bellemere, was licking Lakeman’s cock as it came in and out of Robin’s pussy. The image burned itself into Nami’s mind. Her mother, who had always been a figure of strength and composure, was now a creature of pure, unbridled lust. And Robin, the woman who had just reprimanded them, who had trained them with such a stern hand, was a writhing, moaning mess.

Robin’s eyes, glazed with pleasure, fluttered open for a moment, meeting Lakeman’s. A shared, intense connection passed between them, a silent language of desire. Then her head fell back again, a long, drawn-out moan escaping her lips.

Nogiko whimpered beside Nami, a small, choked sound. Her hand gripped Nami’s arm, her fingers digging in. Nami could feel her trembling.

Lakeman’s thrusts grew faster, more urgent. He buried himself deep inside Robin, pulling back only to plunge in again, his hips bucking with ferocious intensity. Robin’s cries became more frequent, more desperate. "Oh... god... I’m... I’m going to..."

Bellemere, still on her knees, increased the pace of her ministrations, her tongue swirling around Lakeman’s shaft, occasionally flicking at the underside of his balls. She seemed to feed off the escalating intensity in the room, her own breathing becoming ragged.

"Ummh"

A low growl rumbled in Lakeman’s throat. He pulled Robin’s hips even closer, grinding against her, his cock a rigid, pulsing force inside her. Robin screamed, a long, drawn-out cry that ended in a shuddering gasp. Her body went rigid, then sagged, her legs still wrapped around him, but her movements slowing.

"Aahh"

Lakeman, with a final, powerful thrust, let out a primal roar. His body tensed, then convulsed. Nami saw his back arch, his muscles rippling under his wet skin. A thick, white gush splattered against Robin’s inner thighs, running down her legs. Bellemere, anticipating his release, had pulled away, but not before a few drops of his cum landed on her chin. She licked it away, her eyes still fixated on his spent cock.

Robin, panting, her body slick with sweat and cum, slowly slid down Lakeman’s body until her feet touched the ground. She leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her chest heaving.

Bellemere, after a moment, stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her lips were swollen, a faint sheen of cum still visible on them. She looked at Robin, a slow smile spreading across her face.

The ecstatic, ruined cries of Robin and the desperate moans of Bellmere continued to echo in the training facility, a testament to Lakeman’s unrestrained power.

Yet, while he indulged in his immediate, sensual dominion, the ripples of his distant actions were reshaping the world outside the gilded cage of his cruiser.

—-

Lakeman’s calculated execution of Shanks, the Red-Haired Emperor, had been a thunderclap across the Grand Line. The World Government, under the subtle guidance of Stussy and Shakky, had leveraged the event ruthlessly. Newspapers, printed on presses working overtime, plastered the news across every member country: "SAINT LAKEMAN STRIKES: RED-HAIRED EMPEROR VANQUISHED. WORLD GOVERNMENT ENSURES PEACE."

The propaganda was effective. Fear was replaced by gratitude in many subjugated kingdoms. The reputation of Saint Lakeman, already elevated among the Celestial Dragons, began to spread as that of a benevolent, powerful savior—a kind-hearted, decisive figure who cared for the common people enough to eliminate the greatest threats.

This narrative, meticulously crafted by Shakky, who was now expertly managing the World Government’s public perception machine from within the Five Elders’ inner circle, was rapidly eroding the influence of the Revolutionaries.

The remaining Emperors—Whitebeard, Big Mom, and Kaido—were not so easily swayed.

The death of Shanks, confirmed by the burning of his life paper and the frantic reports from their own scouting fleets, was an existential threat. They retreated deeper into their territories. The seas, once dominated by their casual movements, grew tense and quiet. But beneath the surface, activity was frantic.

Whitebeard mobilized his massive fleet, Kaido whipped his Beasts Pirates into a frenzy of new recruitment, and Big Mom began forging alliances and arming her territories with unprecedented urgency. They were preparing for the inevitable confrontation, seeing the World Government’s move not as protection, but as a declaration of war for absolute control.

On the fringes of this shifting power structure, Monkey D. Dragon, the leader of the Revolutionaries, felt the chill of despair.

His work was slowing, the momentum stalled by the growing perceived strength and ’benevolence’ of the Celestial Dragons.

The World Government, now operating with Lakeman’s tactical genius, was proving a far more formidable, unified enemy. Dragon watched the reports, his face grim, recognizing the terrifying efficiency of the new regime.

***

Far away, in the ancient, towering forests of Elbaf, the giants’ homeland, two legends stood vigil.

Silvers Rayleigh, the Dark King, and Copper Gaban, the shipwright and combatant of the late Pirate King, sat at a rough-hewn table. Between them, a small, charred scrap of paper lay nestled in a metal bowl—the ashes of Shanks’ life paper.

Rayleigh, his long hair pulled back, his face etched with the weariness of a lifetime of battles, stared into the bowl.

A few days prior, they had watched the paper burn, the silent, agonizing confirmation that Shanks, the boy they had mentored, the friend they had loved, was gone.

Gaban, his usual easy humor replaced by a grim silence, rubbed the handle of his massive axe.

"It’s confirmed, Rayleigh," Gaban said, his voice a low rumble. "The papers are shouting it. ’Saint Lakeman.’ The young Celestial Dragon. The one who was just a child in Sabaody."

Rayleigh nodded slowly. His mind flashed back to the encounter years ago on the archipelago—a ten-year-old boy with unnerving eyes and an aura of casual, devastating power, already possessing the strength of a Vice Admiral. Rayleigh had sensed the danger then, but the sheer speed of Lakeman’s ascent was terrifying.

"Shanks knew the risks. He went in alone, likely trying to negotiate or warn them," Rayleigh murmured, his voice tight. "But to kill an Emperor... he’s stronger than we thought."

Normally, the death of a comrade, even one as dear as Shanks, wouldn’t drive the pragmatic Rayleigh to a suicidal quest for revenge against the World Government. He was selfish; he valued his life and his quiet retirement. But this was different.

His gaze drifted from the ashes to the empty seat beside him. The sudden, unexplained disappearance of Shakky from Sabaody Archipelago years ago had haunted him. Shakky, the woman he loved, the one he was finally ready to propose to, had vanished without a trace.

He remembered their last conversation. Shakky had expressed a desire to free Boa Hancock from the clutches of the Celestial Dragon— Lakeman, given his known appetite for powerful beauty.

But then she’d strangely recanted, claiming Hancock had made her choice. Days later, she was gone.

Rayleigh’s chest tightened with a familiar, searing ache of suspicion. He had always feared Lakeman was involved, knowing the Celestial Dragon’s predatory nature and his penchant for collecting rare, powerful women.

Now, with the confirmation of Lakeman’s sheer strength and cruelty, the fear solidified into certainty.

’He took her.’

"It’s not just Shanks, Gaban," Rayleigh said, his eyes burning with a cold, focused fury. "It’s Shakky. I need answers. I need peace of mind. And if it costs my life to get it, then so be it."

He stood, his old muscles coiling with a renewed, dangerous energy. "We have already contacted the others. Buggy, Crocus, everyone. We are going to Marijoa. We will bring the Roger Pirates back together, one last time."

Gaban stood beside him, his expression resolute. "For Shanks. For Shakky."

What Rayleigh didn’t know was that his guess was tragically, utterly correct.

Shakky wasn’t imprisoned; she was worse than that. She was Lakeman’s devoted, willing slut, managing the entirety of the CP organization alongside Stussy, pulling the strings of global intelligence, and now, even sitting in the hallowed halls of the Five Elders, ensuring the smooth, compliant running of the World Government—all for the glory and pleasure of her King.

The woman he loved had become the smiling, ruthless architect of his enemy’s dominance.

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