Wine trickled slowly across my collarbone, running in rivulets down my chest until it vanished—absorbed by skin before it ever had a chance to fall.
I sighed again.
Across the desk from me, the Marine Captain was still lecturing. Or trying to.
His voice buzzed around the edges of my hearing like a fly near the ear—present, annoying, but ignorable. He was gesturing with more effort than necessary, words slurring just enough to betray the effect of the wine I hadn't even offered yet.
I watched him, but I didn't see him.
Three days. Just three days.
That's all it had taken for me to start unraveling. No monster from the depths, no whispered threats of death had ever undone me. But three days of them? Of smiles and glances and teasing?
That broke something in me. That made something in me.
I tilted the gourd and drank.
The scent alone was intoxicating. More than one Marine nearby had flushed from just being in the same room with it. The Captain—who should've been interrogating me, maybe even threatening me—sat blinking like he'd forgotten why we were even here.
I poured him a glass.
He took it with the reverence of a priest receiving message from the one above him, then sipped as if he were memorizing the taste.
The others were already struggling—blushing, fidgeting, too drunk to stand.
I looked out the window.
Clear skies. Birds floating lazily in circles, calling to one another like nothing in the world could touch them. Wind tugging lightly at the flags.
I envied them. For their ignorance. Their carefreeness.
I drank again.
The door opened.
Everyone in the room straightened—even the ones too tipsy to do so cleanly. A new presence entered. Older. Sharper. Authority wrapped in a coat too crisp to question.
The real officer had arrived.
The Marines saluted out of instinct, even while wobbling. Discipline hanging on by threads.
Behind him, the girls stepped in—quiet, present. Nami's gaze was unreadable. Carina looked tired in a way that didn't touch the body but wrapped around the soul. Both of them looked... complicated.
The old man didn't speak at first. He just eyed the Captain's wine, took the glass without asking, and dropped into the chair like he'd done this a hundred times before.
All the other marines left him, the girls and me and went out.
He looked ready to speak. I stood up and walked towards him. He glared at me.
I didn't flinch. Didn't pause. Just poured him a full cup.
He stared at it. Then at me.
And drank.
No ceremony. No pretense.
Just thirst.
By the third cup, his eyes had softened. His posture had loosened. Whatever righteous fury he walked in with was now somewhere at the bottom of my gourd.
The girls didn't say anything.
They didn't need to.
They watched me pour the officer a drink as he got so drunk he couldn't do a thing.
I gave them a look. Just one.
No jokes. No defenses.
Only the truth of a man who didn't know if he was angry or tired or lost.
Then finally, softly, they spoke in unison.
"Modorimashou."
Let's go back.
I didn't argue.
Didn't nod.
I just stood and followed.
---
We walked through the street, the tavern looming ahead.
People stared.
Whispers followed behind like shadows.
Some looked at us with fear, as if the ground might break where we stepped. Some stared with something uglier—disgust, suspicion. A few looked curious, wide-eyed, as if they had never seen people.
I kept drinking.
Didn't meet their eyes.
Didn't feel anything, not really.
By the time we reached the tavern, my body moved out of muscle memory alone.
The innkeeper didn't speak. Just stepped aside, his eyes flicking from me to the girls like he wanted to say something, but knew better than to try.
Our eyes met for a bit before he dropped his.
I walked up the stairs, too tired to do anything else.
Upstairs, Carina stopped me before I even touched the handle to my room.
Her arms wrapped around me, her face pressed into my chest, and she whispered into the silence between us.
"Gomen'nasai. Jibungatte ni kōdō shite shimaimashita."
I'm sorry. I acted selfishly.
I didn't respond. Not right away.
She had been reckless. Brash. Stupid, maybe.
But I had been worse.
My hand rose on instinct.
It paused—halfway to her head. Halfway to comfort.
Then I pulled it back.
And instead, I pinched her cheeks between my fingers and started molding them into shapes. Her face contorted with every press and stretch, eyes wide with surprise.
Then, finally, I flicked her forehead. Not hard. Just enough.
Nami stood watching by the door.
Quiet. Still. Her face gave nothing away.
I turned to her.
Carina holding me like a stubborn little koala, I approached Nami—and flicked her forehead too.
She gave a soft "Ah—!" not expecting it, her composure slipping for just a second.
Then I reached out with both hands and tugged at their cheeks, pulling them outward, making a mess of their elegance.
Both of them looked at me like I was disgusting.
And both smiled.
Just a little—like the edge of a moment they weren't sure they wanted to end.
That's when I leaned in. Not too close.
Just enough.
And in a voice low and warm and full of the weight I hadn't spoken aloud, I whispered:
"Good girls."
They froze for a moment. Looking at me and each other. Before they gave out a smile.
And me?
I stood there with one in my arms, the other in my gaze, wondering if three days of closeness could really shake a man's bones more than three years of solitude.
Apparently, yes.
Apparently, they could.
And yet—
Some part of me still believed I was better at fighting monsters than facing softness like this.
God, I am weak against women.
----------
I woke to the soft, almost hesitant sound of birdsong outside the window. The light was mellow, slipping through the cracks in the curtains like it wasn't sure it was welcome. Morning had come quietly. No shouting, no violence, no immediate need to fight or run or make excuses.
Just the sound of birds.
And the weight of a hangover made of memory, not alcohol.
Yesterday had been stupid. That was the only word for it.
Now that the heat of the moment had cooled, I could look at it for what it really was—impulsive, reckless, avoidable. I had better choices. Cleaner ones. Smarter paths.
And I chose the worst one.
I massaged my temples slowly, sighing through my teeth. The kind of sigh that didn't fix anything, just admitted it.
The sting of shame wasn't from being caught or punished. It was from knowing I should've known better—and still walked right into it.
I shifted slightly to get up, but something held me down.
Carina.
She had wrapped herself around my arm like ivy around a crumbling wall. Her grip was light, but firm. Her breathing too steady to be asleep.
I could've called her out.
I didn't.
Let her have it.
Let me have it, too.
My eyes scanned the bed, half-expecting another surprise like the last few mornings. I don't know what I was hoping to find—maybe discarded nightwear, maybe something else they'd left behind to mess with me. But there was nothing. And somehow, I wasn't disappointed.
Because this time, the memory was better than any memento.
Carina had somehow convinced Nami to wear microkinis to bed.
Both of them. Curled against me. Barely clothed. Close.
A pervert's dream.
Sanji's wet dream.
And somehow, I had slept straight through it like the world's most exhausted monk. I couldn't even be mad about it. I didn't have the energy. Or the nerve.
I reached out and flicked Carina's forehead gently.
Time to get moving.
She stirred with a theatrical stretch, arms rising above her head, chest arching, breath slow. She knew exactly what she was doing. The movement was graceful, lazy, calculated—an invitation and a farewell in one.
She leaned on my shoulder, eyes still lidded, and said with a sly tilt to her voice:
"Keshiki wa kiniitte imasu ka?"
Do you like the view?
I nodded, not even trying to look away. What was the point?
She smirked.
"Zan'nendesu ga, mō miru koto wa dekimasen."
Sadly, you can't see it anymore.
And just like that, she peeled herself from the bed, letting the sheet fall away as she moved across the room. She dressed slowly, without a hint of urgency. Every motion was a show. A farewell performance.
I watched, not even pretending otherwise.
Before she left, she turned back at the door, sticking out her tongue.
"Hentai. Baka."
She said it like it was a nickname.
I lay back for a moment longer, letting the silence soak in.
Then I rose.
---
The chill of morning water woke me fully. I cleaned myself quickly, no ritual, no luxury—just necessity. My reflection in the glass looked older than I felt. Or maybe just tired in a way sleep didn't fix.
I made my way toward the Marine office.
Nami was already there, seated at a low table surrounded by stacks of coins and bills. Her brows were furrowed, lips pursed in concentration, counting every single berry like it owed her a confession.
I didn't interrupt.
Just bowed slightly to the Marine Captain.
"Shazai shimasu."
I apologize.
My voice was calm. Steady. I handed him a small bottle of the wine—as a bribe and a apology.
Whether he kept it for himself or shared it with others—that wasn't mine to worry about.
He grinned, clearly more excited by the wine than the apology, and waved his hand as if dismissing a child's mistake.
Forgiveness, it seemed, came easily with a strong drink.
I sat in silence as Nami finished her count.
She double-checked. Then triple-checked. Even the Captain started to twitch with impatience, his foot tapping against the floor like a ticking clock.
When I saw the veins on his temple start to pulse, I gently took Nami by the arm and led her out. She didn't protest. Just gave the coins one last parting glance like she was saying goodbye to a lover.
---
The tavern wasn't far. Carina was already there, bags packed, coat slung over one shoulder, her expression unreadable.
Nami and I packed quickly, and before we left, I paid the tavern owner more than he was owed. He didn't speak, just nodded with a kind of practiced neutrality—someone who had seen too much to judge.
We headed to the port.
---
The oak ship stood waiting.
Repaired. Clean. Ready for sea.
But not for us.
Today, we were selling it.
Nami looked thrilled, eyes gleaming with future profit.
Carina?
Carina looked like she was watching someone walk away for the last time.
She didn't say anything. Just stared at the ship with a heaviness that didn't need to be explained.
I understood.
She was mourning a dream. A dream that had brought her memories she wished to keep.
I walked to her and wrapped my arms around her gently.
She didn't cry. She didn't speak. She just leaned into the hug like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
---------
Carina and I headed to the merchants to buy Supplies necessary for the trip. Fresh Water, Food both dried and not, Hygiene products, Medicine, some gifts for the villagers and Usopp and the kids and a water proof safe. She traded and negotiated with the traders and merchant for a better deal. I just followed her carrying stuff as he purchased them one by one.
We loaded up my small vessel. Not for lack of options—we could've bought something bigger, flashier. But I kept it. For memory.
It was the ship that was given to me by the villagers after all.
--------------
Then Nami came running, her voice high and electric.
116,480,690 berries!
That's what the merchant offered or what Nami made the Merchant offer.
Carina blinked. Nami beamed. I stood still.
Then, slowly, a smile spread across all three of our faces.
It was a ridiculous number.
It was perfect.
------------
We looked at each other.
Our destination was confirmed.
The girls wanted to spend. I knew just the place.
I handed Nami the log pose. The one Merry gave me. Her fingers hesitated before closing around it. Carina blinked, then looked away.
Log pose to their home were only given to the one they trusted. And I had given it to them.
I just flicked their head once more. No time to get emotional.
Not when we are ready for a voyage.
They both looked at each other and smiled as gourd and wine glasses clicked with each other.
Now onward to our destination.
Syrup Village.