Lonely Ruler and her sunshine: Chapter 3: Ripples Across the Sea

A full year had passed since the night six-year-old Harry Potter first revealed to Imu—secret ruler of the World Government—the wondrous power he called “magic.” In that year, Pangaea Castle had seen a quiet but profound transformation. The corridors once steeped in cold grandeur now felt just a touch warmer, as though the presence of a small child’s laughter and curiosity had nudged the stone walls to breathe with gentle life.

Harry continued to call Imu his Mama, and the bond between them grew only stronger. Under her careful guidance and unwavering affection, the boy flourished. Each day brought a new discovery of his strange abilities—pulling objects from afar, shaping soft spheres of light in his palms, even floating a small toy for a few seconds before letting it drop. And each night, when he settled under plush blankets, Imu was there to soothe his lingering nightmares with a gentle hand and soft words.

But Imu was no ordinary mother, and Harry no ordinary child. The same undercurrent of secrecy that defined Imu’s reign permeated their lives. Mary Geoise still knelt before her silent authority—even the Five Elders bowed to her command. For centuries, she had guided the world from the shadows, carefully preserving the illusion of a vacant throne. Now, the weight of her maternal instincts drove her toward a private agenda of both love and revenge.

A year earlier, when Harry was only five, Imu had confessed to him that Monkey D. Luffy—one of the most notorious up-and-coming pirates—was actually her biological son, stolen from her by Monkey D. Dragon, leader of the Revolutionary Army and father to Luffy. Harry, having finally experienced the warmth of a mother’s love, felt a burning indignation that anyone would rob her of motherhood. He’d taken to calling Dragon the “Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon,” a childish but earnest condemnation of the man who had made his beloved Mama cry.

Now, Harry was six, and Imu decided it was time for the world—and particularly Dragon—to know how she felt. She had supported Harry’s playful nickname for Dragon behind closed doors, her heart torn between sorrow over Luffy’s absence and fierce protectiveness of the child in her care. The heartbreak lingered, but she was ready to strike back in a manner that would rattle the Revolutionary Army and amuse herself at Dragon’s expense.

She summoned her most trusted agents—silent phantoms in black robes who answered only to her. In hushed tones, she instructed them to carry a series of messages to key Revolutionary Army members scattered across the seas. But the messages were unorthodox. Each contained a photo of a grinning Harry—hair messy as ever, bright green eyes shining with childish glee, tongue poking out in that irreverent way that reminded Imu of a cheeky sparrow.

On the back of each photo, in Harry’s delightfully messy handwriting, was a short message:

“Hi! I’m Harry, Mama’s new son. Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon made Mama cry and stole her baby Luffy. That’s why Mama’s sad, but I’m here now and I’ll protect her! So there, Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon!”

Of course, Dragon himself would receive no such message initially. The plan was for the entire Revolutionary network—except its leader—to learn about Harry’s existence first. The agents delivered the messages with impeccable stealth. One by one, from the remote hideouts of the Revolutionary commanders to their allies across the seas, the rebellious forces opened envelopes to find a small child’s jest ridiculing their revered leader.

And if that wasn’t enough, Imu also had a special coded note for Dragon alone—one that she intended to arrive last, ensuring maximum discomfort for the man who had taken Luffy from her. Perhaps it was petty, perhaps it was even childish, but it was a year in the making. Harry, though uncertain of the deeper context, had giggled when Imu confided her plan to “prank Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon.”

“He deserves it, Mama,” Harry had declared, eyes flashing with conviction. “He’s made you cry so many times.”

Imu had reached out, brushing his hair aside, feeling warmth in the sincerity of his support. “Yes, he does,” she’d replied softly.

Far away from Mary Geoise, in various corners of the world, Revolutionary Army members were busy planning the next steps to undermine the World Government. From the scruffy ranks of new recruits to top-ranking officers, they all served under Monkey D. Dragon’s iron will, believing wholeheartedly in his revolutionary ideals. That was when the strange letters arrived—each carefully marked with an innocuous seal.

At first, the recipients assumed it was a crucial intelligence briefing. But as they opened the envelopes and found a child’s photo inside, confusion reigned. The backside of the photo read the same mocking words each time: “Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon made Mama cry.”

Some Revolutionary officers nearly fell out of their chairs laughing. Others were mortified. Yet the question on everyone’s mind was: Who is this child, and who is his mother that dares to belittle our leader so openly? The signature was simply “Harry,” and the photograph showed a beaming little boy with a playful expression. Some guessed it might be a twisted Marine hoax. Others wondered if it was a coded message disguised as a child’s rant.

Sabo, second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army—and the sworn brother of Luffy and Ace—got his letter while in a hidden base. He read it three times, baffled by the references to Luffy: “He stole her baby Luffy.” Sabo’s eyebrows shot up. Mama? he wondered. Luffy’s mother? Had Dragon hidden her identity all these years?

“Koala, come look at this,” Sabo said, waving the photograph.

Koala trotted over, read the message, and covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Well… that’s certainly not the typical threat or propaganda. It looks authentic—childish scribbles and all.”

“Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon,” Sabo murmured, half-expecting a lightning strike for such heresy. “Who in the world is sending this? Does Luffy even know he has a mother like that?”

News spread through their ranks like wildfire. Everywhere, Revolutionaries compared the photos, the bright grin on Harry’s face, the childish scrawl defaming Dragon. Word inevitably reached Dragon’s top subordinates… and from them, it would be a short leap to Dragon himself.

Monkey D. Dragon, the so-called “World’s Worst Criminal,” led the Revolutionary Army from one hidden stronghold to another. He was a stoic figure, rarely showing overt emotion, with a constant swirl of wind and ominous weather around him. Yet, on this particular day, he was on the deck of a small Revolutionary ship, reading over intelligence reports, when a messenger rushed up—breathing heavily.

“Chief… You need to see this.”

The messenger extended a small note. Dragon took it, noticing how the man’s hand trembled slightly. The piece of paper contained no childish doodle or photo; it bore only a code, one that only Dragon would understand. As he deciphered it, his normally stoic face paled.

“This is my little revenge—don’t you dare forget you stole my son, you bastard. Don’t you dare forget what you did to me, robbing me of motherhood. Even if I have Harry now, he is not a replacement for Luffy!!! Yours, Imu.”

Dragon’s eyes widened. A knot formed in his stomach. Imu, Luffy’s mother… he had known this confrontation might come someday. But this? He could practically hear her venomous tone in every word. It was precisely the sort of note only she would send.

At that exact moment, several Revolutionary commanders returned from missions, each brandishing the photo-laden letters they’d received. Before Dragon could react, they thrust the pictures into his hands—images of a young boy, proclaiming Dragon was a “Big Bad Idiot Papa” who made “Mama cry” by stealing Luffy.

Flustered, Dragon found himself on the receiving end of confused stares and muffled giggles. His perpetually swirling wind seemed to condense into a comical storm cloud directly above his head, drenching him in a sudden downpour. His men tried to hide their amusement, but the watery fiasco only intensified the spectacle.

“Who is that child, Boss?” one Revolutionary asked.
“He’s calling you an idiot… and something about Luffy?” another chimed in, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.

Dragon’s cheeks colored—rare for a man known for his unwavering composure. He hastily folded the photos away, half-livid, half-embarrassed. Imu, you never let things go, do you?

That same day, the rain cloud refused to dissipate. The entire Revolutionary base echoed with whispered jokes about “Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon.” And Dragon, for all his might, could only stand there, fuming under a permanent drizzle, cursing the day he decided to hide Luffy from his mother.

Not even Marineford was spared from the chaos. One sunny morning, Vice Admiral Garp strode into Navy HQ’s bustling main hall, rummaging through his mail. When he found a particular envelope lacking the usual Navy insignia, he raised an eyebrow and tore it open. Out fell a snapshot of a bright-eyed, raven-haired child with a goofy grin and his tongue poking out. Garp blinked, and then he read the note scribbled on the back:

“Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon is Mama’s enemy because he stole Luffy! My name’s Harry. I’m Mama’s new son, so that makes me Luffy’s little brother. Big brother’s gonna be Pirate King, but I’ll protect Mama so she doesn’t cry again! Signed, Harry.”

Garp’s jaw dropped. Next, he let out a raucous bellow of laughter that shook the entire hall. Marines turned their heads curiously as Garp doubled over, tears in his eyes.

“Bwahaha! My no-good son’s getting a scolding from a brat!” he roared, slapping his knee. “Another grandson! This is too much!”

Admiral Sengoku, passing by with a stack of papers, nearly dropped them at the sight of Garp’s hysterics. “What’s so funny, Garp?”

Garp waved the photo at Sengoku. “Look! My new grandson, apparently.”

Sengoku’s eyes bulged. “Another one?! You already have Luffy—who’s a pirate—and Ace—who was a pirate…” He trailed off, realizing too late that mentioning Ace’s death in a joking manner might be insensitive.

“Ace is gone, we know that,” Garp said quietly, sobering for a moment before letting out another belly laugh. “But it seems Dragon’s… lover? Partner? Either way, she’s claiming she has a new kid. This one’s apparently my grandson by… well, adoption, I guess!”

Before Sengoku could comment further, Vice Admiral Tsuru—an elderly but formidable Marine strategist—walked over, eyeing the picture. “That child is adorable,” she said sternly, no hint of humor in her voice. “We should treat him kindly. If Imu’s truly behind this, you realize the potential ramifications, don’t you?”

To everyone’s shock, Tsuru then proclaimed, “I shall be his grandmother, too.”

Garp’s face twisted into a comical scowl. “Hah?! Over my dead body, you shriveled old hag! I’m his grandpa, and I sure don’t need you muscling in!”

Tsuru’s vein popped in her forehead. With lightning speed, she unleashed a Haki-infused punch straight into Garp’s face, sending him crashing through several walls until he tumbled into the courtyard.

“I AM NOT OLD, YOU JERK! I’M IN MY PRIME!” Tsuru yelled after him, fists trembling with indignation.

Marines scurried to pick Garp up from the debris, while Sengoku rubbed his temples, groaning. Another day at Navy HQ, overshadowed by the bizarre realization that Garp had yet another grandson—who was apparently the younger brother of the increasingly infamous Monkey D. Luffy.

Across the seas, aboard the Thousand Sunny, Monkey D. Luffy—twenty years old now—lounged on the ship’s figurehead, scanning the horizon. He was fresh from yet another wild adventure, confident grin plastered on his face, straw hat pulled low. A messenger bird swooped in, dropping a sealed note at Nami’s feet. She picked it up, read it, then her eyes went wide.

“Luffy!” Nami called. “This letter… it’s for you. And… you might want to read it carefully.”

Curious, Luffy hopped down and accepted the note. Upon opening the envelope, he found a photograph of a little boy, hair messy, tongue poking out cheekily. The child’s eyes sparkled with an earnestness that tugged at Luffy’s heart. A note was scrawled beneath the photo:

“Big Brother Luffy! I’m Harry, your little brother! Mama says you’re the future Pirate King. Good luck finding the One Piece! Love from your mother, Imu, and from me, your little brother Harry!”

Lower down were two more lines:

“PS: Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon stole you from Mama and made her cry. Sometimes she still cries. But I’ll protect her!”

“PPS: This is a big secret, Big Brother. No one can know, but Mama is the ruler of the World Government. I know you declared war on them, but please don’t hurt Mama. Bye-bye!”

Luffy’s jaw dropped so fast, it almost unhinged. His crew crowded around him, peering over his shoulder. Zoro raised an eyebrow, Sanji’s cigarette nearly fell from his lips, and Usopp’s eyes bugged out.

“Luffy,” Nami said shakily, “are you seeing what I’m seeing? The child says your mother is the ruler of the World Government?!”

A swirl of emotions lit Luffy’s face—shock, confusion, then a bright grin. “I’ve got a little brother?!” he exclaimed, as though that fact alone overshadowed everything else. “Wahaha! This is awesome!”

Usopp flailed. “That’s your reaction? He just said your mother is the secret boss of the entire World Government!”

But Luffy wasn’t listening. He clutched the photo, eyes shining. “I never knew my mother. Gramps left me with bandits. My father’s never been around. But a mama? And now a little brother, too?”

He read the note again. The lines about Dragon stealing him and making Mama cry ignited a flicker of anger in Luffy’s normally carefree gaze.

“So that old man, Dragon, took me away from her?” he muttered, frowning. “That’s messed up. I mean, I’m grateful Gramps raised me, and then Dadan, and I met Ace and Sabo… but it’s still… ugh!”

He flexed his hands, as if grappling with a new, complicated wave of emotions. The rest of the Straw Hats exchanged worried looks. This was big news indeed: Luffy’s mother was Imu, the rumored shadow queen of the entire World Government. And Luffy had an adopted little brother.

Finally, Luffy turned to his crew, brandishing the photo triumphantly. “Look! This is Harry, my baby brother! Haha! I’m the big brother now!”

Chopper squealed at the cuteness of the photo, Robin wore a thoughtful smile, and Sanji shook his head but grinned. Even the stoic Zoro let out a faint chuckle.

“He’s adorable,” Brook said, eyes hidden but voice warm. “Yohoho, let’s hope we meet him someday, Luffy-san.”

Meanwhile, Nami was busy flipping out about the mention of “don’t hurt Mama.” “Uh, but Luffy, your mother is the highest authority in the World Government. Isn’t that… conflicting with your dream?”

Luffy, after a brief pause, scratched his head. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Right now, I’m just happy to know I have a mama who cares about me. She wrote me, and so did my little brother. I guess I’ll see what happens if we ever meet.”

The distribution of these prank-like messages didn’t end with the Revolutionaries, Marines, and Straw Hats. Across the New World, other key figures received glimpses of the childish scribble.

• Kaido, the Beast Pirate Emperor, stood upon his floating fortress, Onigashima, reading the note that had somehow found its way into his quarters. He let out a booming laugh that shook the halls. “Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon, eh? So even the Revolutionary scum gets belittled by some brat. Gahaha!” Then his mood soured. “If that brat is precious to the World Government, maybe I should kidnap him…” He paused, though, recalling the unstoppable wrath Imu could unleash. With a grumble, he tossed the note aside and reached for another barrel of sake.

• Big Mom (Charlotte Linlin) cackled hysterically at the note. “Mama mama mama! So there’s a little child of Imu’s? Sounds adorable! I want him in my collection!” She licked her lips. The idea of forcibly adopting a new child was not beneath her, but even she hesitated at waging war directly against Mary Geoise for one child. Still, the gears turned in her mind.

• Red-Haired Shanks read the message at some tavern in a quiet moment. He gave a wide grin, eyes dancing with amusement. “So Luffy’s mother is Imu, huh? And Luffy’s got a new little brother named Harry. This world keeps surprising me.” He chuckled, taking a swig of sake. “I wonder how Luffy’ll handle that. Probably with a big old laugh, if I know him.”

• The Five Elders themselves were not only aware of the plan—Imu had told them exactly what she intended—but also reveling in the uproar it caused. For centuries, they had despised Monkey D. Dragon for his revolutionary ideals. Now, to see the world’s most wanted man ridiculed by a child’s teasing nickname brought them no small measure of glee. They exchanged smirks behind the closed doors of their council chamber, privately congratulating Imu on a prank well-executed.

• Celestial Dragons across Mary Geoise, upon hearing the rumor that Imu’s “son” had singled out Dragon as “Big Bad Idiot Papa,” found themselves deeply amused. Some of the snootier among them boasted that of course Imu’s child would be cunning enough to belittle her enemies. Others were simply relieved not to be the target of that child’s mischief.

All across the seas, the fallout continued. Everyone from pirates to kings debated the meaning behind these messages, typically focusing on the comedic angle: the infamous Dragon, reduced to a mocking moniker by a six-year-old boy.

Meanwhile, in the year since Harry discovered he could coax kindness from the Celestial Dragons, a subtle yet powerful shift swept through their culture. Under Imu’s watchful guidance—and Harry’s childlike enthusiasm—the Holy Land began treating its slaves less harshly. Initially, it was only a handful of Celestial Dragons, curious to see if Harry’s suggestion might improve productivity. Then more joined, impressed by the results.

Harry’s simple logic resonated: “If you treat them kindly, they work harder. If they have better places to sleep, they won’t get sick. And if you say ‘thank you,’ they might feel happy to help instead of scared.”

At first, the Celestial Dragons were skeptical. But once they saw the slaves responding with unexpected loyalty and diligence, a wave of changes began. Slaves were granted marginally better quarters—still far from freedom, but a significant improvement. They had slightly more rest, and medical care if they fell ill. Some Celestial Dragons even started calling slaves “servants,” a subtle but meaningful difference in language. A trickle of empathy found its way into a world long devoid of compassion.

Harry witnessed these changes with a cautious hope. He remembered what it was like to be treated as less than human by the Dursleys. Though the word “slave” still horrified him, he clung to the small victories. If he could help even a few people suffer less, that was worthwhile.

“Mama,” he said one day, “someday, can they be free?”

Imu’s expression grew complicated. “This world is built on traditions far older than you, Harry. But… who knows? Perhaps your influence will create ripples no one can ignore.”

Harry nodded solemnly, determined to keep nudging that ripple forward.

One day, as Harry strolled through a quieter section of Pangaea Castle’s sprawling corridors, he came upon a pair of fishfolk slaves—one a large fishman with scars across his broad chest, and the other a timid mermaid with a dull coloring in her fins, presumably from malnutrition. Their owners were absent, possibly off attending a Celestial Dragon gala. The fishfolk huddled by a corner, eyes lowered in that posture of forced subservience.

Harry, curious and empathetic, approached. The fishman tensed, expecting a whip or a harsh command. Instead, a small voice piped up:

“Hello… I’ve never seen a fishman or a mermaid before. Are you… from Fish-Man Island?”

The fishman blinked, exchanging a wary glance with the mermaid. “Y-Yes,” he managed, voice thick with caution. “That’s our home, under the sea.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed, eyes shining. “Is it pretty? Do you have a king? My Mama said there’s a King Neptune who rules, but I never met him.”

The mermaid stared at Harry in confusion. “You’re… not afraid of us?”

Harry shook his head vigorously. “Why would I be? You look so cool! I bet you swim really fast.”

For a long moment, the two slaves simply gaped. No Celestial Dragon child—or, well, an adopted child of the highest authority—had ever approached them with such genuine curiosity. Slowly, the fishman relaxed, beginning to describe the coral forests, the bubble-like architecture, and the many fishman districts. The mermaid chimed in shyly, recalling the colorful reefs and how her fins once shimmered in the sunlight before her capture.

Harry listened, rapt, tears gathering at the edges of his eyes as he heard about their captivity. “That’s so sad,” he murmured. “I wish you could go home.”

The fishman bowed his head. “We are grateful for your kindness, but we’re still—”

Harry placed a small hand on his large, scarred arm. “I’m… sorry. But… I’ll keep trying to make things better. If you ever need something, just tell me.”

Both fishfolk stared at him in disbelief, hearts torn between hope and despair. In that instant, the mermaid realized that this child, at least, saw them not as property but as people.

Imu, learning of the encounter later, gently teased him about wearing the typical Celestial Dragon bubble suit. “Harry, you are the Holy Child of Mary Geoise,” she said, half-smiling. “It might be safer to wear the bubble, like the others do.”

But Harry scrunched his nose in disapproval. “I don’t like it. It makes people see me as someone who’s better than them. And that’s not what a good king does.”

Imu raised an eyebrow. “A good king?”

Grinning, Harry proudly recounted the story he’d read about King Arthur in his old world: how a simple commoner drew a sword named Excalibur from the stone, becoming the rightful king, and ruled with fairness and courage.

“He loved his people,” Harry said passionately, “and they loved him back. They named their children after him, and they fought by his side. Even Merlin the wizard helped him, just like… maybe I can help you, Mama, with my magic. And you can love your people, too, if you want.”

Imu’s eyes flickered with an odd mixture of amusement and deep contemplation. In a single year, this child had managed to soften the edges of centuries-old elitism just by being himself. She bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “Very well. No bubble suits. Wear what you like. I suppose times can change… if we will it so.”

Harry beamed.

It was only a matter of time before Harry, with his innate sense of curiosity, stumbled upon the private council chamber of the Five Elders again—this time by complete accident. Though Imu had introduced him briefly when he was five, the Elders had been cordial yet reserved. A year later, they had come to hear stories of the child’s pranks, magic, and knack for melting even the proud Celestial Dragons’ hearts.

So one sunny afternoon, while wandering corridors in search of new reading material, Harry nudged open a door he thought led to a library. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the Five Elders. They looked up from a table spread with maps and classified documents, shock dancing across their features. Then their stern expressions softened, recalling Imu’s order: Treat him well. He is my son.

Harry blinked. “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

One of the elders—tall, bald, with a long beard—cleared his throat. “Young Master Harry, correct?”

The boy nodded, stepping in timidly. “I was just… exploring.”

An awkward silence followed until one Elder, a man with a mustache and a walking cane, motioned for Harry to approach. “You can join us if you like. We’re discussing… various matters.”

Harry grinned, pressing close to the table. The Elders exchanged uncertain glances, but none dared protest. Imu’s child had unprecedented liberty here. For a moment, they asked him trivial things—how his day was, if his lessons with Soren were going well. Harry answered politely, then plopped onto a chair, swinging his legs and studying them.

“You all look like stern grandpas,” Harry observed innocently.

A pause. The Elders stared, half-offended, half-amused. But the childlike sincerity in Harry’s voice melted them.

“Grandpas?” repeated the one with a scar across his chest. “We are the Five Elders—holders of the highest rank in the Celestial Dragons…”

“So you’re like five grandpas who help Mama?” Harry concluded.

Despite themselves, the Elders found the comparison endearing. They no longer viewed him as a mere annoyance. Something in Harry’s bright eyes, reminiscent of Imu’s maternal influence, moved them.

“Well… you may call us that, if you wish,” conceded the bearded Elder. “But do remember to show respect.”

With unstoppable exuberance, Harry clapped his hands. “Then I’ll call you Grandpa Mars, Grandpa Saturn, Grandpa Warcury, Grandpa Nusjuro, and Grandpa Peter!” He invented whimsical names on the spot, pronouncing them with glee.

A startled hush fell over the room. The Elders blinked at one another, trying not to laugh. Finally, the mustached Elder raised an eyebrow. “Those are… interesting names. Very well, child. If that pleases you.”

Harry beamed. “Thank you, Grandpas!”

From that day on, he would occasionally drop by the council chamber (with a polite knock, of course), bringing a small bag of pastries to share or a new story from his old world. The Elders, initially unsure how to handle him, gradually warmed to his presence. They grew fascinated by his tales of “England,” “cars,” and “King Arthur,” none of which existed in their world. And in turn, they let slip mild tidbits about how the World Government functioned—though they were cautious not to reveal the darkest secrets.

In that odd dynamic, they became something akin to grandfatherly advisers, doting on the boy who showed them a hint of normalcy in a place rife with politics and power games. Meanwhile, Harry adored the novelty of having not just one Mama, but five “Grandpas” who, though stern, had hidden hearts of gold.

Back in her private chambers, Imu read the latest dispatches about the world’s reaction to the mass distribution of Harry’s photo and note. As expected, chaos and amusement reigned in equal measure. She allowed a soft, secretive smile to curl her lips, pleased that Dragon was no doubt squirming under the flood of mockery.

Still, her satisfaction was tinged with lingering sorrow. Luffy, her biological son, was out on the Grand Line, forging a path to become Pirate King—and she longed to see him, to hold him just once. Yet she knew a direct meeting might break the fragile illusions that bound the world. He has enough on his shoulders, she told herself. Let him sail freely for now.

Harry’s footstep pattered into the room. He was holding a wooden sword, practicing a few swipes he’d seen some Marines do in passing. Though he had no official training, his posture was earnest. He paused when he saw her expression.

“Mama, are you okay?” he asked softly.

Imu set aside the papers, opening her arms. Harry scurried over and hopped onto her lap. At six, he was still small enough to fit comfortably, though she suspected he’d shoot up in height soon. She rested her chin on his unruly hair, sighing. “Just thinking about… your big brother.”

Harry nodded, eyes bright. “He’s going to be the Pirate King!” Then his face fell. “But that means he’s kind of an enemy of Mama, right?”

The heartbreak in his voice was impossible to miss. Imu closed her eyes. “He opposes the World Government. He wants freedom on the seas, and that includes defying the system I helped create. But that doesn’t mean…” She struggled for the right words. “…that doesn’t mean we can’t love him.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. “I love him already, even if I’ve never met him. He’s my big brother.”

Imu pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I know, child. Someday, perhaps we can stand in the same room without the weight of the world on our shoulders.”

Harry snuggled closer, silently resolving to help that day come sooner. If King Arthur could unite a kingdom with the help of a wizard, surely he, Harry, could find a way to unite Mama and Big Brother Luffy.

Meanwhile, at Navy HQ, news of the “Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon” fiasco continued to amuse Vice Admiral Garp to no end. He recounted the story to fellow Marines, describing how Dragon was probably sulking under a rain cloud somewhere. This brought him a measure of cathartic glee, considering the strained relationship he had with his son.

However, each time Garp tried to brag about “his new grandson, Harry,” Vice Admiral Tsuru would barge in, proclaiming she had an equal right to be called Harry’s grandmother. The resulting spats kept the Marine base in an uproar. Sengoku, pinned between them, groaned endlessly about the chaos.

One afternoon, Tsuru went so far as to present a crocheted blanket sized for a small child. “For your grandson, Harry,” she told Garp with a proud tilt of her chin.

Garp’s face twisted into a scowl. “Hmph, I never asked you to make him anything. That’s my grandson.”

Tsuru narrowed her eyes. “Your grandson? I outrank you in intellect, you musclebound fool. I can be a grandmother if I please.”

Thus began another shouting match that ended with Garp sporting a new bruise and Tsuru calmly returning to her duties. Other Marines learned to watch from a safe distance, whispering that if Harry truly came to Marineford one day, it would be comedic gold to see Garp and Tsuru vying for “grandparental rights.”

Somewhere across the sea, Monkey D. Dragon stood atop a windswept cliff, reading Imu’s coded note for the hundredth time:

“…Even if I have Harry now, he is not a replacement for Luffy!!!”

A bitter wind howled around him, raindrops pelting his cloak. The ominous cloud that had formed the day he first read it had yet to leave him. He had many regrets in life, but none so deep as the choice he made to keep Luffy from Imu’s influence. He believed he was protecting Luffy from the World Government’s darkest secrets. Yet he had robbed Imu of motherhood, and evidently, she would never forgive him for it.

Dragon sighed, the swirl of raindrops drifting down his cheeks like tears. “Imu… I had my reasons. But I suppose that’s no excuse.”

He turned his gaze to the horizon, imagining Luffy’s determined face and the newly revealed visage of that little boy, Harry, calling him an idiot. I am an idiot, Dragon thought, shoulders sagging. And I probably deserve much worse than a child’s prank.

Still, regret would not deter his revolutionary path. He resolved to press forward, toppling the Celestial Dragons and the corrupt structure Imu maintained—though, ironically, she herself had begun to shift that structure from within, a fact beyond Dragon’s knowledge.

Amid the vast swirl of comedic revelations and simmering tensions, life at Mary Geoise carried on. Harry’s influence continued to spread as he chatted with servants, befriended guards, and even told jokes to lesser Celestial Dragons who happened to be curious about him. The rumors of the “holy child” with magical powers who had softened Imu’s heart were no longer hidden. They circulated quietly among those who mattered, prompting a mixture of respect, fascination, and fear.

Harry found time each week to practice his reading and writing. He cherished the library, immersing himself in whatever books he could find about maritime legends, fishman biology, ancient myths, and any clue about magic. Though details of wizardry from his original world were scarce here, he found parallels in old tales of mystic arts—a sliver of hope that someone might eventually guide him beyond mere guesswork.

Every so often, he tested his powers by conjuring illusions for the palace staff, illusions of tiny dragons or flickering balls of light that danced along the corridor. The staff were enchanted, giggling or applauding. Harry relished bringing them small moments of wonder in a place once so devoid of mirth.

One late evening, after a peaceful dinner, Harry and Imu walked the expansive palace courtyard. Lanterns glowed softly in the manicured hedges, and the stars above seemed unusually bright. Harry held Imu’s hand, glancing at the silhouetted towers of Pangaea Castle.

“Mama,” he asked, “what do you want for the future? Do you still want Luffy back? Do you want me to stay here forever?”

Imu breathed in the fragrant night air. “I want many things,” she admitted. “I want Luffy to know I never abandoned him. I want you to grow strong and happy. I want this world to bend to my will… or perhaps to become something better, so you and Luffy can both thrive.”

Harry studied her profile—the same mother who had once threatened to tear the world asunder if it meant regaining Luffy. Now, she seemed gentler, tempered by the love she’d found in caring for Harry. “I’ll help you,” he said firmly. “I’ll protect you, Mama. And someday, I want to sail, too. I want to find Big Brother.”

Imu’s eyes softened. “I won’t stop you when the time comes, Harry. But that day is still far off. You’re only six, after all.”

He pouted playfully. “Seven soon!”

She chuckled, and they continued strolling. Overhead, the moon glimmered, casting silver edges on the castle spires. In that tranquil moment, mother and son, they each silently acknowledged the complicated future ahead: a future involving a war-torn sea, Luffy’s quest for freedom, Dragon’s revolution, and Imu’s grip on the world. But for now, they held onto a fleeting peace.

Far away, each recipient of the “Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon” letter found themselves changed—or at least amused. Luffy proudly carried Harry’s photo, showing it off to the Straw Hats whenever conversation waned: “Look at my baby brother, see? He’s so cool!” Sabo weighed the revelations carefully, pondering if he should try to contact Harry someday. Garp bragged at Marine HQ that he now had “another grandson, so watch out!” Tsuru kept crocheting, despite Garp’s protests. Kaido, Big Mom, and Shanks each stored the knowledge away, waiting for an opportune time to exploit or rejoice in it. And Monkey D. Dragon continued his crusade, a perpetual storm cloud over his head, haunted by regret yet steeled by conviction.

In Mary Geoise, the once-rigid Celestial Dragons found themselves displaying subtle acts of kindness toward the slaves they had once abused. A small, determined child had planted a seed that would, in time, grow beyond anyone’s expectations. The fishfolk slaves whispered about a child with magical powers who saw them as people rather than property, and hope stirred in their hearts.

Meanwhile, Harry found new ways to amuse his five “Grandpa” Elders with stories of King Arthur and Merlin, making them chuckle behind their dignified beards. He teased them about their stern looks, and they humored him, offering paternal smiles they rarely granted the world.

For Imu and Harry, each day felt like an improvisation—a delicate dance between unspoken love and the unstoppable machinery of global power. Yet the child’s presence had begun to bend the world’s cruelty, bit by bit, toward something gentler. The pranks on Dragon were only the beginning: a whimsical demonstration that even a single spark of laughter could ripple across the seas, sowing confusion, frustration, and, in some cases, a glimmer of unity.

In the quiet of night, as Harry slipped into bed, Imu tucked him in. He curled against the soft pillows, gazing at the star-speckled sky through tall windows.

“Good night, Mama,” he murmured. “I love you. And someday, I want to meet Big Brother. Then we’ll all be a family, right?”

Imu’s voice trembled with both hope and longing. “Yes, child. Someday.”

Outside, the lamp glow faded, and the hush of the castle settled in. Beyond Mary Geoise’s walls, the wheels of destiny kept turning—pirates roamed the seas, marines tightened their patrols, revolutionaries whispered of upheaval, and hidden alliances grew in the shadows. Each faction unwittingly shared a single common thread: the bright, goofy grin of a six-year-old boy who dared to mock the world’s biggest criminal and melt the hearts of the haughtiest aristocrats.

Only time would tell how far Harry Potter’s small acts of kindness and laughter would reverberate. But for now, it was enough that he slept peacefully in the arms of a mother who cherished him, dreaming of a day when his newly discovered family—Imu, Luffy, and perhaps even that “Big Bad Idiot Papa Dragon”—might not be so very far apart.

End of Chapter 3