The stifling heat of the desert air and the soft glow of a hanging lamp brought Robin sharply back to her senses. She was standing in Crocodile's office at Rain Dinners, and the warlord himself was seated before her, puffing his cigar with that perpetual air of quiet menace.
She blinked, trying to push aside her confusion and regain focus. But her thoughts felt tangled—too much had changed in the blink of an eye.
"Nico Robin," Crocodile said evenly, breaking the silence. His sharp gaze locked onto hers, scrutinizing her every movement. "You're distracted. Is there something you're not telling me?"
Her heart skipped, but her years of skill in maintaining a composed front kept her mostly in check. She straightened, lifting her chin. "No, nothing at all," she said smoothly, though there was the faintest hesitation in her voice.
Crocodile raised an eyebrow. He exhaled a long plume of smoke and leaned back in his chair. "Then answer the question. Is unrest growing? Are the people losing faith in the king?"
Robin hesitated, if only for a second. "Y-Yes," she responded, cursing her slip. "Reports suggest that doubt is spreading among the populace. The seeds of rebellion are beginning to take root, as planned." She maintained her calm facade but felt his calculating gaze linger a moment too long.
"Hmph." Crocodile smirked faintly, though his narrowed eyes betrayed his suspicion. "Good. Don't disappoint me, Nico Robin. You're dismissed for now."
She nodded curtly, turning on her heel and striding out of the office. Only when the heavy door clicked shut behind her did she allow her shoulders to drop slightly, her thoughts racing like a storm.
Once outside, Robin ducked into an alleyway for a moment of reprieve, resting her back against a cool stone wall. The weight of her predicament finally hit her as she inhaled a shaky breath.
"Gone... they're all gone," she muttered under her breath, gripping her arm tightly. "All that time I spent with them... all that trust we built—it's disappeared like it never existed."
Her calm, carefully constructed exterior cracked for a moment, and a flicker of panic shone in her eyes. Her mind raced, unwilling to accept the grim reality. She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to force herself into clarity.
"No, this has to be connected to the storm," she murmured, thinking of the inexplicable phenomena that engulfed the Sunny. "Maybe... maybe this isn't permanent."
The thought brought a flicker of hope, enough to ground her. She straightened her posture, exhaling deeply. "If we're all in the past, they have to be here somewhere. They wouldn't just vanish."
Robin's eyes sharpened as she began formulating a plan. "The first time I met them was at Whiskey Peak... but they didn't take a direct route back then. If this... reset has affected Chopper too, he'd be at Drum Island."
She frowned, the idea settling into place. "If I can confirm Chopper is there and he remembers me, it means the others must have been transported as well."
It wasn't certainty—but it was the only lead she had. With a final breath to calm her nerves, Robin steeled herself and began to move.
At the harbor, Robin moved quickly, no time to waste. She'd gathered a few essentials—her coat for the cold, some food, water, and a map. With everything packed into a small bag, she spotted the small boat she'd "borrowed." It wasn't much but it would get her to Drum Island. She untied the rope of the ship, setting sail into the quiet night.
The wind was light, the sea calm, and Robin's thoughts drifted briefly to the crew—her friends, scattered somewhere in the past. She had to believe they were still alive, somehow.
As the boat drifted farther, a nagging feeling crept over her. She'd been careful to stay hidden, but something told her she wasn't alone.
"Come out," Robin said quietly, her voice cutting through the stillness. "I know you've been following me."
Miss Monday and Mr. 8 emerged from the shadows, their footsteps barely audible as they stepped from behind the stacked barrels. "Quite observant, aren't we, Miss All Sunday?" Miss Monday said with a grin, cracking her knuckles.
"Don't get too cocky, Miss All Sunday," Mr. 8 added, stepping forward. "We've been following you for a while
Robin's eyes narrowed, but her expression stayed unreadable. She knew exactly what they were after: information and leverage.
"you're under arrest, miss All Sunday," Mr. 8 said, pulling out a gun. "We're taking you now."
Without hesitation, they attacked. Miss Monday's fists swung toward Robin, while Mr. 8 fired shots at her. Robin danced effortlessly out of the way, her hands moving in practiced precision. She allowed them to get closer.
"Six Fleur," Robin murmured.
Six of her arms shot out, catching Miss Monday's fist and wrenching it behind her back. At the same time, Robin's arms wrapped around Mr. 8, pinning him to the ground before he could fire again.
But Robin wasn't done.
"Octo Fleur."
Eight arms materialized, wrapping around their necks and squeezing just enough to cut off their air. They struggled, but Robin's grip was firm. She watched as they grew weaker, gasping for breath.
"You'll be fine," Robin murmured. "I'm not going to kill you... but you won't be a problem anymore."
The two bounty hunters flailed weakly before going limp in her arms. Robin released them, letting their unconscious forms collapse onto the deck.
She took a breath, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Sorry, but this can't be help