The crew sat inside a small wooden cabin near the base of Drum Kingdom's snowy foothills, warming their hands beside a weak fire. Outside, the wind howled through empty alleyways, a ghostly reminder of the silence that hung over the land.
Dalton stood before them, arms folded, the creases in his forehead deep with sorrow.
"There were once over twenty doctors in Drum Kingdom," he began, his voice steady but bitter. "Wapol… that mad tyrant… feared them."
"Feared doctors?" Usopp asked.
Dalton nodded. "He called it the 'Doctor Monopoly'. He ordered the military to eliminate every physician who didn't work directly under him."
Everyone froze.
"He left the people to suffer. Disease, injuries, childbirth—didn't matter. No one got treated unless they swore loyalty or had money. Only one doctor survived outside his control."
He turned to look toward the distant white peaks towering above them.
"Dr. Kureha. She lives at the summit. The only one brave enough to defy him."
"She comes down sometimes," Dalton added. "But not often. She's old. Eccentric. And lives with… something else."
Vihaan looked over at Nami, her body wrapped tightly in layered blankets. Her breathing was soft but shallow.
"Then I'll bring her to Kureha," he said, standing.
"Hold on," Dalton interjected. "That mountain isn't safe. It's vertical and freezing—"
"I'll manage." Vihaan's voice was calm but resolute. "If Wapol ever returns, tell him the one who nearly slit his throat sends his regards."
Dalton blinked. "Wait—you fought Wapol?"
"Chased him off the ship." Zoro smirked. "He wasn't welcome."
"You guys…" Dalton's lips curled into the faintest smile. "You're not normal pirates, are you?"
Vihaan stepped outside into the freezing wind, the snow crunching under his boots. He knelt down carefully, adjusting Nami over his back with a cloth harness Sanji had helped him make.
"Sleep, sweetheart," he whispered. "I'll get you help."
Without hesitation, he began the climb.
The wind blasted at him from all directions. Ice-capped ridges cut into his palms as he gripped rock after rock, lifting himself upward with careful strength and balanced momentum. The higher he went, the more the cold bit through his clothes like daggers.
Below, the crew watched from the village, their eyes on the distant figure ascending slowly into the white.
At around halfway, just as Vihaan reached a wide ledge to rest briefly, a sharp growl echoed through the snow-covered trees.
Snow Bunnies.
Three of them leapt out of a drift — large, white-furred beasts with beady red eyes and fangs more like wolves than rabbits.
One lunged.
Vihaan twisted, keeping Nami shielded with one arm while hurling a mirror shard with the other — the reflection bouncing off ice and dazzling the bunny long enough for him to leap past it.
He sprinted across the ledge, dodging claws and snow blasts, skidding across the icy terrain before bounding to the next ridge.
As he caught his breath near a ridge, he suddenly heard a high-pitched squeak.
Turning, he saw something unexpected.
A baby snow bunny, barely the size of a backpack, was squealing helplessly and tugging at the snow.
Curious, Vihaan walked closer — cautiously.
There, half-buried in a snowdrift, was the adult bunny—its mother, clearly injured.
The baby saw him, froze, and shivered in fear, expecting an attack.
Vihaan slowly knelt, extended his fingers, and without a word, used his shards to shovel the snow away and lift the adult bunny to safety.
The baby blinked.
Vihaan nodded and walked on.
The snow bunny didn't follow.
But it watched him go.
He was nearing the top. He could see a wooden cabin perched on a cliff, smoke gently rising from its chimney.
Just a few more steps.
His legs were numb. His fingers stiff.
He stumbled forward—
—and collapsed, face-first into the snow, cradling Nami protectively in his arms.
The cold was too much. His breathing slowed.
And then—
Soft footsteps.
A small shadow stepped toward him.
It wasn't human.
A reindeer, barely taller than a boy, wearing a blue cap with a white cross, peeked at him from behind a snow mound.
Big, curious eyes blinked. A pink nose sniffed cautiously.
The reindeer looked down at the fallen pair.
"Hey… doctor!! Someone's here!!"
A dull warmth pressed against Vihaan's skin, and a dim orange glow flickered across the back of his eyelids.
He stirred.
His arms felt heavy. His clothes were dry and his boots had been removed. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the wooden ceiling of a small, cozy cabin. A fireplace crackled nearby, casting shadows across the walls.
Nami lay peacefully beside him in a thick bed of blankets, her cheeks flushed with returning color.
"You're awake," came a voice—sharp, feminine, and surprisingly firm for someone presumably elderly.
Vihaan turned his head.
And froze.
A woman with deep wrinkles, sun-spotted skin, long silver hair, and wearing an outfit that might've once belonged to a biker gang stood with a glass of wine in one hand and a scalpel in the other.
Vihaan blinked. "You're... the doctor?"
Dr. Kureha raised a brow.
"You were described as 'a bit old'... but you're ancient!"
WHACK!
The scalpel smacked him in the forehead, not cutting — just enough to leave a red mark.
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING OLD, YOU DAMN MIRROR-CHIN?!"
Vihaan winced. "I-I meant it as a compliment...! Long life is a gift!"
Dr. Kureha sipped her wine. "Tch. I'm only 139."
Vihaan's jaw dropped. "ONLY?!"
"Still young, still beautiful, and still sharp enough to do brain surgery during an earthquake. Watch your mouth."
Vihaan gulped. "Duly noted, Doctor."
At the foot of the bed, the reindeer from before peeked in, eyes bright and voice soft.
"She's scary, right?"
Vihaan raised a brow. "And you talk?"
The reindeer gasped, covering his face. "W-who said that!? You're hallucinating!"