Lost In One Piece

Sabo's pov

Sabo woke up cold.

The first thing he registered was the iron biting into his wrists.

The second was the silence.

No waves. No shouting. No bandits. No Ace. No Luffy.
Just the suffocating, stinking quiet of a too-rich room with too-tight windows.

He blinked up at the gilded ceiling. Chandeliers. Velvet curtains. The whole gilded cage laid out just for him.

And still, the air smelled like rot.

Sabo yanked at the manacles chaining him to the bedpost — once, twice — but they barely rattled. His body still ached from the struggle; bruises were blooming under his sleeves, raw scrapes burning across his palms.

They'd dragged him back.

They'd won.

He gritted his teeth. Not for the pain. Not for the chains.
But for the humiliation burning in his chest like acid.

He had run. He had fought. He had clawed tooth and nail for freedom.
And now?

Now he was just a trophy again — a thing — for parents who had never seen him as anything more than a pawn.

Sabo spat at the floor.

It didn't make him feel better. But it felt like something.

The door creaked open. He didn't flinch. Didn't look.

He knew that heavy, slow tread. Knew that thick stink of perfume and cigars.

His father's voice, thick and smug, slid into the room like a stain.

"You're awake."

Sabo stayed silent.

He could feel the man's gaze pinning him down, cold and clinical, weighing him like a cut of meat.

"You will behave from now on," his father said, tone sharpened by contempt. "There will be no more running. No more disgraceful antics with peasants."

Sabo's lip curled. Still, he said nothing. Not yet.

"You should be grateful," his father continued, stepping closer. "You were rescued from those filthy urchins before they could ruin you completely."

Sabo exhaled slowly, forcing the boiling anger back.
Then, low and biting, he finally spoke:

"Why?"

His father blinked. "What?"

Sabo lifted his head, chains rattling softly. His eyes, bruised but burning, locked onto his father's with defiance.

"Why kidnap me now?" he demanded, voice rough. "Why bother dragging me back? You made it pretty clear you didn't want a son who could think for himself."

A muscle twitched in his father's jaw.

"You are not here to think," the man said coldly. "You are here to serve your family's future. Your foolish rebellion has gone on long enough."

"And that's it?" Sabo pressed, voice rising. "You think chaining me to a bed will fix that?"

Before his father could answer, another voice cut through the tension — softer, clipped with strained gentleness.

"That's enough."

The door clicked again. This time, a second figure slipped inside.

His mother.

She glided forward, her gown whispering against the polished floor. There were new lines around her mouth. Her hands, usually perfectly poised, trembled slightly as she clasped them together.