The sun hung low on the horizon, bleeding orange and crimson into the endless stretch of sea. The Moby Dick rocked gently in the quiet evening swell, its white sails tinged gold in the fading light. Leaning against the railing, Lupin watched the colors ripple across the water, his thoughts drifting as lazily as the waves.
A familiar chime echoed in the air — the faint hum of his system interface flickering to life before him. The daily quest list appeared, its contents unchanged.
Swab the deck. Clean the cannon. Deliver meals.
Lupin let out a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair as he flicked through the list. "Same old, same old," he muttered. Weeks had bled together in an endless cycle of menial chores and unremarkable routines. It had been too long since his last monthly quest, and patience wasn't exactly his strongest virtue.
He rubbed his temple, a scowl settling on his face. There's gotta be something else…
Then — a spark.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as an idea formed. If his system wasn't going to give him something new, he'd make his own entertainment. Navigating through the menus, he pulled up the Wanted Poster Edit section. It wasn't much, but it was a petty sort of mischief he'd come to savor.
Names scrolled by — notorious criminals, pirates, warlords, scum of the sea — until one in particular caught his eye.
Donquixote Doflamingo
500,000,000 Berri
Just seeing the name made his blood simmer. That bastard's crimes stretched longer than the Grand Line itself, and Lupin had always despised him. Now, here was a chance for a little payback. Nothing permanent — just something to cause a stir.
His fingers danced across the interface, typing in fresh crimes beneath the flamboyant warlord's name.
**- Rape of a Celestial Dragon
Theft of Marine-issue weapons
Murder of three Celestial Dragons in Mary Geoise**
Lupin chuckled darkly, imagining the panic this would send through the World Government. The thought of Doflamingo scrambling to fix the damage was almost enough to lift his spirits.
He hit Confirm Edit.
A brief hum. Then — a sharp flash of red.
ERROR: This poster cannot be edited. Poster unavailable.
His grin faltered. "What the hell?"
He tried again. Same result. Frowning, he scrolled through the bounty list. Doflamingo's poster was gone. No entry. No listing. Like the man had vanished from the books.
A cold knot formed in his gut. He knew what this meant.
"Ah… shit." He whispered it to no one.
Of course. He'd forgotten. Doflamingo had become a Warlord of the Sea. His bounty would've been frozen, his crimes wiped clean on paper. No edits. No public accusations. The World Government protected its assets.
"Damn it… I should've done it sooner," Lupin cursed under his breath. Another plan down the drain. He leaned on the railing again, scowling out at the sunset. The rest of the crew carried on behind him — laughter, conversation, the easy rhythm of life aboard the Moby Dick. But Lupin felt detached, lost in the monotony of another uneventful day.
His fingers idly navigated the system menus. Daily quest? Completed. Nothing new. No side quests. No notifications. The same routine, day after day.
I'm losing it out here.
He ran a hand down his face and was about to head below deck when a thought tugged at him — a strange, nagging itch at the back of his mind. He patted his chest, glanced down at his arms, his shoulders.
And then it hit him.
I don't have the tattoo.
The mark of Whitebeard. Every loyal son bore it somewhere, a symbol of belonging, of family. Lupin had been here long enough, made a name for himself, yet his skin was still bare.
"Shit," he muttered.
He wasn't one for sentiment, but this was different. That mark wasn't just ink — it was blood, loyalty, legacy. And he didn't have it.
Determined, Lupin made his way across the deck to where Marco leaned casually against a mast, sipping from a bottle of sake. The First Division Commander looked up, raising a brow.
"Yo, Lupin. What's up?" Marco greeted, lazy as ever.
Lupin rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh… so, I just realized something kinda embarrassing."
Marco smirked. "Lemme guess — forgot your pants?"
"Funny," Lupin shot back. "No, idiot. I… don't have the Whitebeard tattoo."
That earned a short laugh from Marco, who took another sip of his drink. "Took you long enough to notice."
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, flame chicken."
Marco grinned. "So you wanna get inked now, huh?"
"Figured it was about time."
Marco's smile faded into something more serious. He stepped away from the mast, his expression thoughtful. "Hate to break it to you, kid… but not everyone gets the mark right away."
Lupin blinked. "Wait… what?"
"Yeah. The old man's emblem ain't just for show. You get that mark, it means you're family — but it also means you're responsible for the rest of us. Only Division Commanders and the top officers wear it permanently. Everyone else's gotta earn it."
Lupin let out a low whistle. "Huh… makes sense, I guess."
"'Course it does." Marco shrugged. "Whitebeard don't hand out family lightly. That mark's a promise. A bond. Not something you slap on the first stray we fish outta the sea."
"Good to know," Lupin muttered, a mix of disappointment and newfound determination rising in his chest.
"Not saying you won't get there," Marco added, a half-smile on his lips. "You've been stirring up plenty of trouble, and Pops likes your guts. Just don't get yourself killed before you make it, alright?"
A crooked grin tugged at Lupin's mouth. "Pfft. Like hell I'd die before getting my mark."
"That's the spirit." Marco raised his bottle in a lazy toast. "Now quit bothering me while I'm off-duty."
Lupin chuckled and turned away, his mood lighter than it had been all evening. Another goal. Another reason to push forward. Someday soon, that mark would be his.
Division Commander Lupin, huh?
Yeah. It had a nice ring to it.
And for the first time in days, he felt a spark of purpose in his chest.