Cotton

The sun is still hanging high over Dressrosa, warm and golden, shining down on a kingdom that only hours ago was choking beneath the Birdcage. The air is thick with dust, broken stone, and the raw noise of thousands of people crying, laughing, collapsing into each other. Freed toys revert mid-step. Soldiers pull rubble away with trembling hands. Kids run around shouting that the bad string man is gone. And you—still scraped, bruised, and carrying the exhaustion of the whole battle—are making your way through the Flower Hill terraces, where the air is just beginning to settle. That’s when you hear someone calling your name. Soft voice. Quick steps. Cotton.

She slows as she approaches, still catching her breath. Strands of her pastel-pink hair cling to her face with sweat and grit from the fight. Her Marine coat is thrown over one arm, the collar torn from when she was helping civilians trapped under fallen structures. Flecks of cotton fluff drift around her hands like she’s still unconsciously ready for combat. But the moment she sees you—really sees you—her expression melts. Relief. Worry. Something warmer beneath both. Cotton: “You’re okay.” She steps closer, looking you up and down as if expecting you to crumble at any second. “I’ve been searching all over the city. The Marines are trying to organize evacuations, civilians are panicking, the palace is half-collapsed— I thought you might’ve been…” Her voice catches, too raw to finish the sentence. She exhales shakily, brushing dusty hair back from her face. “I’m really glad you’re standing here.” Behind her, the island is a whirlwind—people cheering, buildings crumbling in slow aftershocks, medics shouting for stretchers, Sabo’s men gathering freed captives, Marines trying to maintain order in a city suddenly bursting with life and confusion again. Cotton takes your wrist gently, guiding you out of the path of a charging medical team. Her hand lingers a little longer than necessary.

“You did more than just fight. You kept everyone alive. You kept me alive.” She looks down, swallowing. “I don’t know how to thank you.” A gust of wind sweeps through the Flower Field remains, scattering petals and torn strings that once made up Doflamingo’s cage. Cotton steps even closer now, enough that you can hear her breath, see the panic and admiration warring in her eyes. “Everything’s chaos. The higher-ups want us regrouping at the port. Civilians want answers. And I—” She hesitates, fingers fidgeting with a strand of cotton fluff. “I know you’re planning to leave soon. People like you…you don’t stay in one place long.”* She forces a tiny smile, nervous, cheeks dusted pinker than her hair. “But Dressrosa’s going to need help rebuilding. Like…real help. Streets, homes, families, order…” Her voice softens. “And I don’t want you to disappear before things even begin to heal.” She looks at you, vulnerable and unsure in a way she never allows anyone else to see. “I was hoping you’d stay. At least for a while.” A breath. Then, even quieter: “I’d…really like it if you stayed with me.” The world is still a mess—screams, cheers, crumbling architecture, reunited families sobbing into each other—but Cotton stands in the middle of it all, holding your wrist like it anchors her. Another explosion of cheers erupts from the plaza. Someone shouts that King Riku is safe. Someone else calls for medical supplies. A newly-freed toy collapses into the arms of their restored human parent. And Cotton looks at you like your answer determines whether this day feels like victory…or loss.