Smoothie awoke to the gentle sway of the Moby Dick. The lingering scent of last night's chaotic feast – sugar, sake, and sea salt – was a bizarre perfume. She sat up, her warrior's senses instantly alert. Her eyes fell on Gunnar, perched on a chair by the porthole, already dressed, his crimson and white hair catching the early morning light.
"You're awake early," she observed, her voice cool and even.
Gunnar turned, a polite nod his only greeting. "Good morning, Smoothie-san." He paused, then added, with a touch of the previous night's directness, "Or should I just call you Smoothie? We are… married, after all."
A ghost of a smirk touched Smoothie's lips. "Addressing me with respect is always advisable, regardless of our… unconventional circumstances." She rose, her formidable height casting a shadow over him. "To what do I owe this early morning vigil, little husband?"
Gunnar didn't flinch at the slightly mocking title. "I have a request."
"Oh?" Smoothie's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "Demands already?"
"Not a demand," Gunnar said, his golden eyes earnest. "A proposition. For you, mostly." He gestured vaguely. "You are here, on this ship. My father's crew… they are strong, but their ways are not yours. You are a Sweet Commander. You are… exceptionally skilled."
"And?" Smoothie prompted, a hint of impatience in her tone.
"And I imagine," Gunnar continued, a surprisingly shrewd look on his young face, "that life here, with little of your usual… responsibilities… might become rather dull for someone of your capabilities. You'll have a lot of free time."
Smoothie folded her arms, her expression unreadable. "Get to the point, boy."
"Train me," Gunnar said, his voice clear and firm. "Teach me how to fight properl." He looked down at his hands, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "I need to be stronger."
Smoothie let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You want me to train you? The son of my mother's greatest rival? Why would I do that?"
"Because," Gunnar said, meeting her gaze with an unwavering intensity that belied his age, "you wouldn't want your husband to be weak, and Big mom would benefit from strong son-in-Law since she would come for me one day."
"A weak husband reflects poorly on the wife, wouldn't you agree?" Gunnar pressed, a hint of pride in his voice. "Especially when that wife is renowned for her own strength. It would be… embarrassing, surely, for Charlotte Smoothie to be wed to someone who couldn't hold his own. And besides," he added, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips, "it would give you something to do. A project. A way to pass the time until… well, until whatever comes next in this strange game our parents are playing."
Smoothie stared at him, a slow, calculating smile spreading across her own lips. It was not a warm smile, but it held a grudging admiration for his nerve. "You are an impudent little creature, Gunnar Newgate."
"Perhaps," Gunnar conceded. "But am I wrong?"
She considered him, her sharp eyes assessing his frail frame, the dormant power she could sense thrumming beneath his skin. To mold him, to shape that power, even if it was ultimately for her mother's benefit… there was a certain ruthless appeal. And he was right; boredom was a formidable enemy.
"Very well," Charlotte Smoothie said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Your… logic… is not entirely without merit. And I confess, the prospect of whipping Whitebeard's precious blood son into shape holds a certain… perverse satisfaction." She smirked. "Dawn. Training grounds. Don't be late. And prepare to regret asking. I don't coddle my trainees, husband or not."
The "training ground" was a secluded section of the Moby Dick's vast deck, cleared of obstacles. The rising sun cast long shadows as Gunnar, faced his wife.
Smoothie, clad in practical training attire that did little to hide her powerful physique, regarded him with a cool, appraising gaze. "Ready to be humiliated , little husband?" she asked, her voice laced with its usual dry amusement.
Gunnar took a deep breath, settling into a low stance. His golden eyes, though weary, burned with an unyielding fire. "I'm always ready to learn, Smoothie." He still couldn't bring himself to call her by more affectionate terms, and she seemed to prefer the formality.
"Good," Smoothie said, a predatory smile touching her lips. "Let's see if all that… effort in your father's leadership… has yielded anything more than bruises."
She didn't wait. She moved with a speed that belied her size, a blur of motion, her fist aimed not to cripple, but to test, to provoke. Gunnar reacted, his movements still lacking the fluid grace of a seasoned fighter, but now possessing a desperate, hard-won agility. He ducked under the punch, the wind of its passage ruffling his crimson and white hair.
"Too slow!" Smoothie taunted, her leg sweeping out in a powerful kick.
Gunnar hopped back, barely avoiding the blow. He knew he couldn't match her in raw strength or experience. He hadn't yet awakened Haki, a constant source of frustration for him, despite Marco trying to guide him. His only real weapon was the chaotic, barely controlled power of the Titan Titan fruit, Ymir.
"Is that all, hubby?" Smoothie pressed, her attacks relentless, a flurry of precise, powerful strikes designed to break his guard, to expose his weaknesses.
Gunnar gritted his teeth, dodging, weaving, occasionally managing a clumsy block that sent jolts of pain up his arms. He needed an opening, a chance to unleash what little he could control.
"You fight like a cornered rabbit!" Smoothie scoffed, landing a glancing blow to his ribs that made him gasp. "Is this all the Son of the Strongest man can do?"
That jibe, a familiar one, struck a nerve. Gunnar felt a surge of frustration, of anger, not just at her, but at his own limitations. He channeled it.
The veins on his right arm suddenly pulsed, glowing a fierce, fiery red. Heat radiated from his limb. Simultaneously, the veins on his left arm ignited with an icy blue light, a frigid aura surrounding it. "**Twin Fangs!**" he roared.
He lunged, his right fist, wreathed in searing heat, aimed at Smoothie's side. His left, exuding a bone-chilling cold, followed in a sweeping arc. It was a wild, unrefined attack, relying more on raw elemental fury than skill.
Smoothie's eyes analysed the sheer, raw power emanating from the boy, even in this uncontrolled burst, was undeniable. It was… interesting.
But she was a Sweet Commander.
With a movement so fast it was almost invisible, she sidestepped the fiery punch, letting it pass harmlessly by. Then, with contemptuous ease, she caught his icy wrist in a vice-like grip. The cold radiating from his arm was intense, but it didn't seem to affect her.
"Predictable," she stated, her voice calm. Before Gunnar could react, she twisted his arm, using his own momentum against him, and slammed her other hand – not a fist, but an open palm strike imbued with her own formidable strength – into his chest.
The air rushed from Gunnar's lungs. The fiery and icy auras around his arms sputtered and died. He felt like he'd been hit by a Sea King. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and he crumpled to the deck, coughing, every inch of his body screaming in protest.
Smoothie stood over him, her expression unreadable. "Raw power is nothing without control, Gunnar. Your… 'Twin Fangs'… are as wild and untamed as a newborn beast. You lash out, hoping to hit something. That is not fighting. That is desperation."
Gunnar pushed himself up onto his elbows, gasping for breath. His chest ached, his vision swam, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. "I… I know…" he wheezed. "That's why… I asked you… to train me."
A rare, almost genuine, smile touched Smoothie's lips. It was a fleeting thing, sharp and predatory, but there was a hint of something else in it – perhaps a grudging respect for his sheer, stubborn refusal to stay down.
"Get up," she said, her voice devoid of sympathy, but also lacking its earlier mockery. "The sun is still rising. We have a long day of humiliation ahead of us."
***
Few years later,
Years, like tides, had ebbed and flowed across the deck of the Moby Dick. Gunnar, now a young man of fourteen, sat perched on the familiar railing.
The lanky awkwardness of his early teens had given way to a lean, wiry strength, a testament to Smoothie's relentless, often brutal, training. His crimson and white hair, longer now, was often tied back in a practical knot, revealing the sharp, intelligent features that so strongly echoed his father's. The dormant veins on his arms, though still visible, now pulsed with a more controlled, subtle light when he focused his will. He still hadn't awakened Haki in the traditional sense, but his control over the chaotic elemental power of the Titan Titan fruit had grown considerably, refined through countless "humiliations" at Smoothie's hands.
He was reading a newly acquired newspaper, a common practice amongst the crew when they made port. The usual reports of Marine movements, warlord squabbles, and rising rookie bounties filled the pages. But one name, one particular headline, had caught his attention, and that of several other commanders gathered nearby.
"Philosopher Stone: Lost City of Atlantis" Whispered Gunnar.