I tied up the prisoners one by one, checking each knot with more care than I'd admit. They didn't deserve the attention, but I wasn't taking chances—not with land barely half a day away. They were locked in the unused storage room, empty save for some spare rope and the smell of salt-soaked wood. I slammed the door shut behind them.
The night had fallen quietly. No clouds. No wind worth speaking of. Just stars overhead, Scattered like embers from a dying fire. I stood on the deck for a moment, letting the wind wash over me. The sea was gentle tonight, each wave brushing the hull like a sleeping giant turning in its bed.
I brushed my hair out of my eyes and headed back inside.
The cabin was dimly lit, warm in that lived-in way. Carina, being Carina, had slipped into sleepwear designed less for sleep and more for suggestion. Silky, short, and impossibly flattering. She was draped over the couch like a cat that knew exactly how pretty it looked. She tapped the space beside her with two fingers—inviting, challenging.
I didn't bite.
Nami sat at the table, focused on her map. A single oil lamp cast a soft glow over her paper, throwing long shadows and warming the lines of her face. Her fingers moved with precision, measuring and redrawing, adjusting the coastline inch by inch. She didn't look up, didn't say anything.
So I didn't interrupt.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, just watching. She was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with appearance—intent focus, quiet purpose, a dream she never put down even when the world tried to take everything else from her.
Dreams like that didn't die. Not really. They went quiet for a while, maybe, but they always came back. Stronger.
Even when dreams are oppressed. They still remain, don't they?
The thought stirred something I didn't like. I ruffled my hair to shake it loose.
And that's when I felt arms slip around my waist from behind.
Carina.
I didn't fight it. Just turned, pulled her around to face me, and let my hands rest on her hips. She pressed close, smug in her silence, her body molded against mine in that unbothered, effortless way she'd perfected.
I dipped my head.
She shivered before I even touched her.
My lips hovered by her ear, breath warm against skin. I didn't say much but it was enough—just enough to turn her bones to liquid. As every word sent warm breath that trickled down her ear and neck.
"Good girl." I whispered, deep and low.
That phrase. It had weight. Power. I felt her body melt, shoulders sagging, fingers tightening around my back. Even Nami looked up from her map, eyes flicking over, lips parted slightly. They both reacted to it every time—like the words carried something neither of them could resist.
I smirked.
Carina didn't get a victory lap. I lifted her off the ground and dropped her back onto the sofa in one clean motion, ignoring the soft laugh she tried to hide. Then I walked out without a word.
I let Nami work in peace and Carina to stew.
I needed air.
The sea welcomed me again like an old friend. The stars were still there, unmoving, timeless. I leaned against the railing and stared at the horizon, watching the line between black water and black sky blur.
My thoughts drifted where I didn't want them to go.
Home.
Family.
Faces I hadn't seen in years. Names I no longer said aloud. People who once looked at me like I mattered.
I shut it down fast. Didn't let it bloom.
Instead, I raised my gourd to the sky.
"To home." I said quietly, just in my mind. "To family."
To Dreams. I didn't mutter it, not even in my head.
I brought the gourd to my lips.
The wine was long siphoned before it even fell down properly. It didn't matter.
I drank because I couldn't get drunk. Because trying reminded me I was still here. Still moving forward. Still capable of choice.
Footsteps approached behind me.
Carina again. She carried a blanket in one hand and a calm expression in the other. She didn't speak as she took the gourd from my hand. I didn't stop her.
We looked at each other.
Then I tapped the railing with two fingers.
She didn't hesitate.
She hopped up, legs dangling over the edge, wind teasing strands of her hair. I pulled her close and draped the blanket around our shoulders. She nestled in without complaint, head tucked beneath my chin, her breath warming the space between us.
We didn't talk.
We didn't need to.
The silence was good. Full, not empty. The kind of silence that comes from people who know each other's rhythms.
The ship creaked softly beneath us, wood and wave speaking in old tongues. The moon glinted off the water, and time slowed to something quieter than minutes.
I ran my fingers through her hair without thinking. She'd fallen asleep somewhere between stars and breath. Her breathing had evened out, warm and steady, and her weight had settled against me completely.
She trusted me, that much was clear.
That was a heavy thing.
The door creaked open behind us.
I didn't turn right away. Just kept stroking Carina's hair as Nami stepped out of the cabin.
I felt her eyes before I saw them.
She stood there, half in shadow, arms crossed lightly. Her gaze moved from Carina to me, then back again. She wasn't angry. She wasn't jealous. She was measuring something I couldn't quite name.
I looked at her and gestured—a small motion, a flick of the hand, nothing too obvious.
Come here.
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she walked toward us.
I shifted slightly, leaving space.
It wasn't much. Just enough.
She looked at the spot. Then at me.
I didn't rush her.
After a few seconds, she sat. Not stiff. Not casual either. Somewhere in the middle, like she didn't want to admit she needed it.
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
I pulled the blanket around her too. My arm went over her back, drawing her in gently. She didn't resist. Just settled in.
The wind picked up slightly, tugging at sails and hair. The air was cool, but wrapped in warmth, we didn't feel it much.
We just sat.
Three bodies, two awake, one dreaming. All quiet.
My fingers found Nami's hair now. Softer, Gentler than I expected. She closed her eyes, not asleep, but far from alert.
The silence returned, deeper now.
We were broken people, all three of us. Cracked by the sea, scarred by choices, but still breathing. Still surviving.
And tonight, we weren't alone in that.
The waves rocked the ship gently, and above us the stars watched on—patient, eternal, uncaring.
And maybe that was okay.
No promises were made.
No words were spoken.
But there, wrapped in worn fabric and fading warmth, we found something that felt like peace.
Even if it wouldn't last.
Even if it couldn't.
Did it matter?
To me, It didn't.
Three broken souls had found refuge for a bit in each other's arm.
------------
Morning came not with fanfare, but with light seeping into the cracks of night. The air was still cool, kissed by the sea's breath, and for a moment the world felt quieter than it had a right to.
Nami stirred first. She moved slowly, carefully, like she didn't want to wake anyone. But she was too close for her leaving to go unnoticed. Her head lifted from my chest, her hand gently untangling from my side.
Then she looked at me.
Just for a second.
Her eyes met mine with something unreadable. Not cold. Not warm either. It was a deep glance, a quiet storm that had no need to shout. Then she pulled away, stood without a word, and walked back to the cabin. Her steps were silent. Deliberate.
I didn't stop her.
I only watched the cabin door as it closed behind her, the hinges creaking faintly, the finality of it hanging in the air like mist.
Carina, still under the blanket, moved in closer almost immediately. Her body curled tighter against me, her warmth chasing the sudden chill Nami had left behind. Her arms slid around my neck like they'd always belonged there, and She pressed in closer, gently, like she was trying to erase distance itself.
She had been awake. Maybe even before Nami left. Maybe after. Maybe the whole time.
I didn't ask.
Her face lifted slowly. She looked into my eyes, and the moment held.
Her eyes said more than any voice could. They studied me—searching, waiting, realizing. She saw it all. The things I wouldn't say, couldn't hide, and didn't want to admit.
And then, without a word, she pulled away.
No teasing. No flirtation. No last brush of her body against mine.
She stood and walked, calm and distant. There was no sway to her hips, no playful glance over her shoulder. Only a glance back—just once—and in that moment, we read each other perfectly.
She had made a decision after looking in my eyes.
She wasn't the only one who could read eyes. I too had seen her eyes. I too had read what she wouldn't say out loud. The thoughts she couldn't push down. I too saw the why in her eyes.
And I had already made my decision, whether I admitted it or not.
I ruffled my hair, trying to dislodge the tension forming in the back of my head, and walked to the cabin.
But even before my hand touched the door, I heard raised voices.
Nami and Carina. Arguing.
I froze.
Fingers hovered above the handle but didn't touch it. Their tones weren't angry. Not explosive. But sharp, emotional, brittle. Words passed too quickly for me to follow through the wooden barrier, but the tension curled around the cabin like smoke.
I let my hand drop.
Turned away.
I walked back to the deck, folded the blanket neatly, and placed it beside the door. Then I returned to the railing and sat there again, legs dangling over the edge like a child too tired to pretend he was a man.
Life had a way of folding in on itself. Complicated things pretending to be simple. Simple things getting tangled in silence.
I didn't drink. I didn't move.
I just watched the ocean. The water shimmered in the daylight, gentle waves pushing the ship forward like a hand guiding a child across a river. It was peaceful in a way that hurt.
I gave the cabin door a glance hoping to see what was going on behind the door. I sighed and looked back at the peaceful ocean.
I don't know how long I stayed like that.
Long enough that the world faded.
Until Nami's voice shattered it.
"Shima!"
Island.
I blinked, coming back to myself as I followed the direction of her outstretched hand.
There it was.
A stretch of green and stone rising from the water. A port. Ships docked. Flags waving lazily in the breeze. Marines, too—white uniforms, rifles drawn, standing in formation at the end of the pier.
Nami shouted a command, sharp and efficient. The prisoners, bound and wary, moved to obey. They hauled down the sail, the fabric folding in on itself with a soft thwump. A gesture of peace. That we were friends.
Carina stood nearby, a gun loosely gripped in her hand. It wasn't aimed, but it didn't need to be. The message was clear.
Don't try anything.
The ship drifted slower now, but still forward. Steady. Controlled.
We reached the island.
The Marines watched us. Rifles pointed, fingers tense on triggers. Their faces weren't angry. Just ready. Suspicious. It wouldn't take much to make them fire.
If we'd flown the Jolly Roger of the pirates, they might've shot already.
But the flag was gone. Burned days ago.
Nami moved to the edge of the deck, hand raised. Her voice rang clear.
"Shōkin kasegi!"
Bounty hunters.
A long pause followed.
Then, slowly, the tension dropped. Rifles lowered. Faces softened—slightly.
Nami and Carina threw down ropes which the dock workers took and got to work.
I tied the last of the prisoners. They carried the loot and the corpses off the ship in a grim procession. Nami jumped down and ran toward the nearest Marine officer, bounty posters in hand.
I followed slower.
I burned a count of my blood, a chance at resurrection and carried my vessel down the ramp with practiced ease. A modest thing—a symbol more than a weapon. I found an empty space along the dock and tied it down myself.
The Marine officer looked at me just as I finished.
Nami was still talking—gesturing toward the corpses, explaining the names, the prices, the proof. The officer nodded, but his eyes drifted past her. Toward me.
Then toward the corpses.
The expression on his face shifted.
It was respect mixed with fear.
I understood why.
The bodies we'd brought weren't clean. They weren't intact. Some were missing limbs. Some didn't have skin. Some had wounds no blade of a fair fighter would leave. And most had metal shards lodged deep in them.
I saw the Marine glance at me again, then at Carina, then at Nami.
Something settled in their minds.
The way they looked at the girls and at me. I was pretty sure they were thinking I was the boss and they were my women.
I sighed quietly. The girls didn't make it easy either. Carina hugged my arms as she appeared as hopeless as she could.
I stood still as the Marines gathered the corpses, tagging them, checking their faces, comparing scars and burns to the posters with them occasionally giving glances to the girls.
One even muttered under his breath, "Kōun'na otoko." Lucky man.
I had a feeling that my reputation would grow not as a brutal bounty hunter but as a pervert of a man who has girls all over him.