One Piece x Reader [OPEN]

106. Tick-tock, I'm out (Ceasar x Male!Reader)

"I hate the stairs," Caesar pouts, slumping with exaggerated flair against a rack of delicate instruments. They wobble alarmingly. Judge's gaze sharpens to a needlepoint.

"You here for something useful, or just trying to lighten the air quality?" you ask mildly, not bothering to hide the faint curl of amusement at the corner of your mouth.

"I felt something in the air," Caesar says, puffing up. "Thought maybe one of your little ghost-threads twitched. Kaido? Big Mom? You know I like to stay informed when the heavyweights fall."

You arch a brow. "That was days ago, Caesar."

He freezes mid-hover. "Oh."

"Mm." You mark a correction on the blueprint. "Try keeping up."

He lets out a laugh, too loud and too fast. "Hah! Obviously. Just testing you! Never know when one of your precious targets might suddenly drop dead, right?"

Judge exhales, long and slow.

Caesar drifts in closer, peering at the half-finished sketch in front of you. "Ooooh, is this new? Something dangerous?"

"Something delicate," you reply, sliding it a little farther from his reach. "Which is why it'll survive longer without your fingerprints."

"Touchy," he hums, backing off—not insulted, just already distracted. He floats lazily upward and lounges midair, arms tucked behind his head like he's settling in for a nap.

Judge clears his throat. A sharp, intentional cough. The kind that means focus.

You glance his way. "Oh right. You didn't tell me what you needed from me yet."

"Repair some weapons for the soldiers," he says. His tone leaves no room for delay. "Urgent. Check it out."

You nod once, already half-rising from your chair. "Fine. Let me finish this line."

Judge mutters something under his breath about professionalism and moves to one of the consoles.

You sit back for just a moment longer, letting the graphite settle on the page. The faint scent of gas still clings to the air like an old joke.

Just another day in the lab.

[★]

The lab doors slide open with a soft hiss.

You step out, arms stretched overhead, the stiff ache in your shoulders finally beginning to ease. The last of the weapons have been checked, reinforced, recalibrated—at least enough to keep the soldiers from blowing off their own limbs. You're still thinking about the blueprint back on your desk when you catch sight of two familiar figures waiting near the corridor's end.

Ichiji stands with his arms crossed, posture stiff and impassive, a gleam of faint disdain never far from his expression. Beside him, Reiju leans casually against the wall, her hair catching the low light, her smile faint but not unfriendly.

"I assume everything's in order?" Ichiji asks, not even bothering with preamble.

You nod, brushing your hands off on your coat. "Done. Everything's functional. If they break again, it won't be my fault."

Reiju tilts her head. "You don't look thrilled."

"I'm tired," you correct, giving her a half-smile. "Tell your father the issue's handled. I'm going to sleep before someone else brings me another half-melted rifle."

Ichiji gives a short nod. "We'll inform him."

You turn to go, bones heavy, mind slowing. The corridor lights hum gently overhead as your steps echo down the steel floor. Just a few more turns. Just a few more—