64 million.
That was the total. Technically, 64.38 if you wanted to be precise. But in my head, it was just 64. The girls would take away anything after the decimals. They were just that crafty after all.
Eight parts of it were mine. That was the deal.
So 51.5 million was the number my cut landed on. So, 51 is my share. I figured I'd give them more than the agreed amount and call it compensation.
I chuckled to myself.
If people got paid every time someone took advantage of them, I'd be charging them. For every glance. Every sway of the hips. Every whispered breath meant to throw me off balance. And I had to admit—it worked. More often than I liked.
They had taken more advantages of me than I had of them.
Then there was the plunder.
Wood. Planks. Tools. Gold trinkets. Spare treasures. Loot we'd fished off broken ships and fractured alliances. That came to another 38 million or so. Three shares meant 11.4 million each.
Let's call it 11 for clean math.
So in the end, 62 million in my name. If I ignored the decimals. If I didn't think too hard.
And the girls? 20 million each. Not a bad payday by any measure. Especially not theirs.
Zoro deserved thanks, even if he'd never know. His disappearance created a power vacuum that led to all this falling into place. The chaos he left behind handed me a fortune wrapped in blood and infighting. Typical of him—making waves just by getting lost.
The Marine captain had informed me the bounty payout would take two days. Processing something that large took paperwork, signatures, chain of command. Nami tried to negotiate even that—bless her ruthless little heart—but I pulled her away before she embarrassed us both.
Still, she was beaming. 20 million would do that to a person.
She didn't hide it, either. Her steps were lighter. Her posture a little looser. Her eyes sparkled like she'd already spent the first ten million in her head.
Carina was just as bad. Practically skipping. Elbows linked with mine, smiling like someone who'd just robbed a noble blind and found out there was no bounty for it.
They both dragged me to the market—pulling me, like a prize mule they meant to spend into the ground. I didn't resist.
I couldn't.
Weakness comes in many forms. Mine had curves, soft laughter, and excellent jiggle physics.
---
The first place we hit was a restaurant. And not just any hole-in-the-wall, either. This was the place—white linen, waiters with gloves, dishes that came in courses instead of bowls. The kind of place where they didn't write prices on the menu. If you had to ask, you didn't belong.
Naturally, I paid.
The girls didn't even pretend to argue.
They just ordered the most expensive things they could pronounce and couldn't, ate with scandalous joy, and toasted to their own brilliance with sparkling fruit wine.
When the bill came, it looked like a ransom note.
Carina kissed my right cheek.
Nami kissed my left.
My eye twitched. But I didn't protest.
They were enjoying themselves. Knowing the bounty that was being processed.
I let myself enjoy it a bit too.
---
Then came the real danger.
A place where men are found dead while they wait.
Clothes shopping.
Hell.
Literal hell.
They led me into a store I swear had no end—just walls and racks and mirrors and plush seats that mocked me with their softness. I sat on one, already aching from anticipation. The music was too soft, too elegant. Another expensive place.
How do the girls find places this expensive?
Carina went in first.
She came out moments later wearing nothing but a panda-print shirt that barely reached her thighs.
My jaw clicked open before I could stop it.
She gave me a wicked grin, twirled once, and slipped back behind the curtain.
I didn't breathe right for a full minute.
You walk through Hell to experience Heaven.
Then Nami stepped out.
She was dressed like a noble's daughter. Elegant blouse, high-waisted skirt, soft gloves. Her walk was slow, confident—nothing exaggerated. She didn't need to flaunt. My gulp did it for her.
At the exact same moment, Carina stepped out again. This time casual. Jeans. Button-up shirt tucked in, sleeves rolled.
Two extremes. One deadly combination.
"Utsukushī." I muttered, the word slipping out.
Beautiful.
They heard it. Of course they did.
They smiled at each other, then at me. That shared look. That unspoken language between them. Trouble. Delightful, expensive trouble.
They disappeared behind the curtain again.
And they kept it up—for hours.
I sat there, playing the role of pack mule and fashion critic. Every outfit came with a spin, a pose, a glance that lingered too long. Casuals, jackets, sleepwear, bikinis. Lingerie that should've been illegal outside of private quarters.
My arms piled up with bags.
My wallet wept.
Those moments burned into my neurons like a brand.
---
By evening, the shop owner looked as drained as I felt. I gave her a nod of mutual suffering as we finally walked out, bags in both arms, my back aching and soul tattered.
But the girls?
They were radiant.
Laughing. Giddy. Tired but glowing.
It was worth it.
Even if I knew I'd pay again given the next opportunity.
But the sight of the girls in microkini was enough to make me forget about the money.
---
We booked two rooms. Naturally, I paid.
Naturally, they took the bigger room.
I was left with a narrow bed, a dusty curtain, and a window that opened to a brick wall. I dropped onto the mattress with a groan, letting every sore muscle melt into the sheets.
I cursed myself for a bit. I should have slipped away for a bit to go to a brothel.
But I didn't. I never did.
Maybe I liked making things complicated. I sighed to myself.
I closed my eyes, breathing deep, already half-asleep—
The door creaked open.
I didn't move.
Carina stepped in silently wearing the night wear that had blown my mouth wide open, slipped off her shoes, and climbed onto the bed without a word. She tucked herself against me, curling into the space beneath my arm like she'd always belonged there. Her breath warmed my neck. Her hand rested flat on my chest.
I let her.
Didn't even think about it.
Time passed.
Then the door creaked again.
Nami.
She stepped inside slowly. No eye contact. No announcement.
She slid onto the bed from the other side, settling in just as easily, just as naturally. Her back pressed to mine at first, then turned as she laid her head on my shoulder. Her leg draped lightly over mine. She also wore the nightwear I bought her.
No words.
No teasing.
Just presence.
I wrapped an arm around each of them. One hand stroking Carina's back. The other running fingers through Nami's hair.
The room was small. Cramped.
Yet we snuggled with each other.
Few thoughts were running in my mind. If they were going to come in my bed, why not let me get the big room?
I wasn't complaining, though.
I sighed a bit as dreams took me.
I am for sure going to a brothel tomorrow otherwise I am going to die cause of these two.
--------------
I let out a slow, dragging yawn as I woke up, arms aching with the dull stiffness of someone who hadn't moved for hours. Both my limbs felt like stone, heavy and sore—probably because they'd been used as pillows all night.
I turned my head slightly.
Empty bed.
No Nami. No Carina.
Only the lingering warmth where their bodies had been.
And something else.
I blinked twice, trying to clear the fog from my brain, but the sight didn't change. Draped across my chest and tangled in the sheets were the two nightwear sets they'd worn to sleep. Delicate fabric. Light scents. One still held a faint trace of Nami's perfume—citrus and wind. The other smelled faintly of vanilla, sea salt and lavender.
My brain froze.
Then cursed.
You've got to be kidding me.
They had undressed while I slept. Thrown their nightclothes on me like a flag on conquered ground—and I missed it.
I shut my eyes in frustration and rubbed my temples. Why? Of all morning, why did I have to sleep so deeply? Was this revenge? A joke? A tease? ... Yeah, probably.
Whatever the reason, it left me holding a very real moral dilemma in my hands.
Do I… return them?
Or do I pretend this never happened and bury the evidence?
Neither answer felt clean. Neither answer felt good. But then again, nothing with them ever did. That was part of their charm—and my suffering.
Eventually, I folded the garments gently and placed them in the drawer. Neat. Respectful. Like that would cleanse the moment of the implications. It didn't, but it was better than asking them and being labeled as a pervert.
Towel in one hand, brush in the other, I left the room.
---
The tavern staircase creaked under my steps. I barely made it halfway down when I froze.
Nami was already heading up.
Her hair was wet, clinging to her collarbone and shoulders. She was fresh from the bath, skin glowing, her walk relaxed, loose, unbothered. She looked up, saw me, and for the briefest second, paused.
That smile she gave?
Trouble.
Effortless, unreadable trouble.
Then she hopped the last few stairs and vanished into her room.
I stood there for a good five seconds longer than I should've, towel dangling dumbly in my hand, brain rebooting itself.
Eventually, I shook it off and went down the remaining steps, jaw set, heart still confused.
---
Carina was downstairs in the tavern, chatting with the owner like she owned the place. She was playing sweet—too sweet. Her smile was the kind that should've come with a warning label.
When she spotted me, she gave me a grin that could only be described as… slutty. Purposefully so.
I returned a smirk. I'd stopped pretending I could win these games long ago.
Outside, I walked to the well behind the building. Bucket, splash, cold water. I washed up quickly, brushing my teeth, bathing in the cold water, using the towel to dry my hair. The routine grounded me. Familiar. Simple. Mechanical.
I walked back into the tavern, towel around my neck.
And stopped.
A group of brutes were gathered around Carina.
Drunken, cocky, half-laughing. One had an arm resting too casually on her chair. Another leaned a little too close, mouth moving with words I didn't need to hear.
She saw me.
And smiled wider.
I sighed. Loud enough for only myself to hear.
Then walked over.
Carina's eyes sparkled as I approached. She didn't move. She didn't say a word.
I didn't ask permission either.
I simply pulled her gently but firmly to her feet, wrapped an arm under her legs, and hoisted her over my shoulder.
The tavern's mood shifted immediately.
I turned and started walking toward the stairs, not in a hurry—but not slow.
That's when I heard it.
"Kanojo o watashitachi ni makasete kudasai, kawaī otokonoko."
Their tone was mocking, playful in a way that reeked of challenge. I didn't need the Japanese translation to understand it.
The laughter behind the words.
The implication.
Something in me snapped.
---
I turned.
The largest one didn't even see it coming.
My hand clutched his collar. The sound it made—crackling wood, crunching ribs, a sharp wheeze—was strangely satisfying. He flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing through the tavern wall with a force that sent dust and splinters into the air.
He didn't get up.
I didn't care.
The second brute moved, too slow. My foot lashed out, catching his knee with brutal precision. The joint twisted. Collapsed. He screamed as he dropped.
Permanently crippled.
The rest of the tavern froze. Patrons ran. The brave ones stared in wide-eyed horror.
Blood didn't spill. But the message did.
Don't touch what's mine.
I didn't shout. I didn't threaten. I simply raised my hand, pointed at Carina with one finger, then pointed at myself.
"Watashi no."
Mine.
And I turned back toward the stairs.
---
I dropped a heavy pouch of berries onto the counter as I passed the owner. Payment for damage. Compensation for fear.
He didn't ask questions.
I climbed the stairs.
Nami stood just outside her room, halfway between her door and mine.
Her eyes met mine, unreadable. Complicated.
I walked past her. Didn't say a word.
Opened the door.
Tossed Carina onto the bed.
She bounced once, her expression unreadable. She didn't giggle. Didn't flirt. Just stared up at me—like she was seeing something she hadn't expected.
Something she didn't quite know how to name.
Our eyes held for a long second.
Her look was complicated.
So was mine.
I didn't say anything.
Didn't act on it.
I turned and walked back out, closing the door softly behind me.
---
Downstairs, the tavern had grown eerily silent.
I walked through the tension, gourd in hand, the drink burning a little too warmly in my chest. I didn't drink for the buzz anymore. I drank to feel something consistent.
It was the closest I could ever get to be a drunk.
The patrons stared as I passed—quiet now, eyes following every step. I saw fear. Respect. Something else. I didn't stop to sort it out.
I pushed the door open.
And stopped.
Outside, Marines had begun to swarm. Rows of white coats. Rifles. Swords. Uniforms crisp in the morning light.
They surrounded the tavern like a noose.
It was a small town after all.
Of course. The Marine would come.
No brothel today.
I stood there for a moment, just watching them form ranks.
No panic. No flinching.
Just a long, deep exhale.
A flick of the wrist.
Another swig of the gourd.
And a thought:
Here we go again.