Chapter Text
"Is that a no?" Peter's smile faltered.
Taking a step forward, he said coldly, "Then do it—kill me."
But Hiroko didn’t move.
Peter's eyes narrowed. "Not even going to try? Damn, I didn’t think I’d be friends with a coward." Disgust laced his voice.
Nearby, Helina raised her hand, signaling her team to hold their positions.
Peter's gaze flicked toward her before returning to Hiroko. "Looks like there’s more going on here. What’s the secret?" he asked, his body lifting off the ground, floating slowly upward.
A grin spread across his face. "Wait... did they send Hiroko to spy on me? Impressive! A clever move—know your enemy before striking. But it makes me wonder... why now? Hiroko and I were having such a nice day. You couldn’t wait until we were done?" His voice carried a mocking, childish pout.
"But no! You had to ruin my day, and I hate when people ruin my day!"
Suddenly, a wave of Conqueror’s Haki erupted from him, shaking the ground.
"Now!" Helina’s sharp voice cut through the air, commanding her musketeers to attack.
They charged, their blades aimed directly at Peter, but before they could strike, he shot high into the sky, laughing.
"But I can make an exception," Peter said with a grin, his fist swelling to an enormous size.
"If you’d just let me talk!" he yelled, slamming his fist toward the musketeers, who barely evaded the crushing blow.
"Don’t even try it," Peter warned, noticing Cavendish and Sabo preparing their next move. "Seriously, can’t we just talk?!"
Sabo shook his head as he advanced. "Talking won’t change anything now, Peter. We’re not here for a conversation."
Peter sighed, dodging Sabo’s attack with ease. "Fine. Then let’s end this once and for all." A smile spread across his face, unnervingly bright.
"Hakuba! Silence them!"
Cavendish froze mid-charge, his demeanor shifting. Without warning, he turned and lunged at Sabo, who blocked his strike just in time.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Sabo barked.
"That’s not Cavendish," Hiroko warned. "That’s Hakuba—another entity that lives within him."
Sabo stopped expecting answers from Cavendish and adjusted his stance.
Meanwhile, Helina issued new orders. "Hana, evacuate the civilians!"
A tall woman with jet-black hair nodded and vanished, her speed unmatched as she began clearing the area.
Peter watched with amusement, clapping his hands. "The musketeers are so fast! And resilient!" His voice brimmed with glee.
Suddenly, two massive, shadowy hands emerged from the ground, smashing down on Hana like a hammer.
But as the dust settled, Hana rose, unscathed.
Peter’s eyes sparkled. "I was right! She’s still standing!" He laughed. "I like them! Strong, durable—don’t you want to join me? Be part of the new era?"
His grin was innocent, almost childlike. The musketeers responded with nothing but cold glares.
Peter’s smile faded. His voice grew small and petulant. "That’s a no, isn’t it? No, Peter, you didn’t impress me. No, Peter, we won’t listen. No, Peter, we won’t join you..."
Each rejection seemed to weigh him down until he appeared to shrink, his childlike frustration boiling over.
"WHY? Why is everyone so rude to me?!" His voice exploded with raw emotion, shaking the battlefield.
His childlike tantrum gave way to an overwhelming surge of Conqueror’s Haki.
"You’re all bullies," Peter whimpered, tears streaming down his face. "I just wanted to talk. I tried to be nice, but all you want is to fight."
Hiroko hesitated. "Maybe we could—"
"No," Hana interrupted sharply. "He might look like an innocent child, but we both know he’s anything but."
"Please, let me handle this," Hiroko pleaded.
Hana gave a reluctant nod.
Hiroko approached Peter, her voice gentle. "Shh... it’s okay. Let it all out. I won’t judge you."
Peter’s sobs subsided as Hiroko placed a comforting hand on his back.
"What do you want, Peter?" she asked softly.
"I want to talk..." he murmured.
Hiroko signaled the others to hold off.
"As I said, I hate when people ruin my day," Peter began, his tone sharp yet oddly light. "But I’m feeling generous—I'll make an exception. No fighting. Not yet, anyway. We’ll save that for later." His body shifted, morphing back into his adolescent form.
"Right now, my followers are scouring this place for the stone. Don’t bother denying it—I can feel its presence," he said, his frown curling into a grin. "So, let’s make this interesting. A competition! Let’s see who finds it first. I love a good game. Doesn’t it sound fun? And the best part is..." His grin widened into something almost feral. "No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try to stop me, I’ll destroy this place if I have to. Nothing will keep me from getting what I want." For a fleeting moment, his eyes seemed to flash red, glowing with an ominous intensity.
"You think you’ve trapped me, don’t you?" Peter sneered. "You think I’m the prey here, that knowing so much about me gives you the upper hand. But you’re wrong—dead wrong. The one truly trapped isn’t me—it’s all of you." His smile stretched unnervingly, almost as if it could split his face.
"In fact," he continued, his voice dropping into a sinister cadence, "this entire kingdom, its people, and everyone in it are as trapped as my dear brother." The mention of a brother sent a visible shiver through Helina, freezing her in place as realization dawned.
"That sword," Peter said, gesturing lazily toward the blade. "At first, I wasn’t sure. But the moment I felt its will, I knew. The Sword of Preso... such a poetic name. It doesn’t just signify the sword’s imprisonment in stone—it’s a cruel reminder of the man who’s sealed inside." His gaze lingered on the sky, utterly indifferent to the murmurs of his audience.
"My brother is here. Listening. Helpless. Unable to stop me," Peter taunted, his back to the sword as if its proximity was beneath his notice. "Am I right, Jonathan? Or should I call you ‘Jon, Jon’?" His voice lilted mockingly, the words dripping with venom.
The sword vibrated faintly, sparks of Conqueror’s Haki flickering around it in defiance.
"Ah, it bothers you, doesn’t it?" Peter’s voice oozed malice. "‘Jon, Jon.’ That old nickname from the orphanage. You hate it, don’t you? That I dare to use it. You hate that the same man who killed your precious friend calls you that." Peter’s grin sharpened as the memory of Jonathan’s fury after Prince’s death played vividly in his mind.
"The irony," Peter mused, almost gleeful. "The only one who could kill me is now trapped in a sword. A sword that just so happens to rest in a garden named after the place you and Prince used to play. Funny, isn’t it, Jonathan? How does it feel to be imprisoned? To be powerless?" His voice rose, the hatred in his tone palpable even as his grin remained fixed. "It’s been so long since I was trapped like that—I’ve almost forgotten the feeling!"
Inside the sword, Jonathan raged. His fists pummeled the unseen barrier separating him from the world, the skin splitting and bleeding with each futile strike. His screams reverberated in the endless abyss of darkness that had been his prison.
Jonathan couldn’t rest. Not while that monstrous shadow still walked free.
Deep down, he knew the truth: many of the tragedies in his life—and the lives of others—were his fault. But none compared to Peter.
It all began when a boy named Pan D. Prince was transferred to His orphanage. And it all ended the day Prince was killed by his own shadow.
Pan D. Peter.
Prince’s shadow had taken his place, just as Jonathan’s shadow had taken his.
Unbeknownst to either of them, their shadows had exchanged places.
One became known as Tinker Bell.
The other?
The other dared to claim the name Prince’s grandfather had intended for him