I burned blood as I pushed the ship.
The ship groaned and shifted, sliding inch by inch away from the oak ship, the space between widening. It wasn’t fast, but it was progress. The kind of progress that made your lungs beg and your back threaten mutiny.
I braced. Pushed. Muscles screaming. The ship groaned, then lurched away with the weight of a dying beast. Finally, space—barely enough for a rowboat. I let go.
Shoulders dropped. Arms hung loose. My breath ca in heavy bursts as I leaned against the railing and let the sweat drip from my brow. For the first ti since I’d discovered what my blood could do, I felt tired. Not sore. Not bruised. Just... tired.
Even the blood had its weakness and limits. My eyes glead at the fact. but I didn’t give it much thought for now.
I had more important things.
From the corner of my eye, I saw two sets of eyes wide with disbelief. The girls—Nami and Carina—had stopped what they were doing. Even their bickering had gone quiet. Carina t my gaze, all that glittering calculation still there, and gave a slow, deliberate wink.
I couldn’t help it. I winked back.
It was wordless, but I could already read her angle. That mind of hers, always running numbers, sizing up potential partners, risk and reward. She was filing away now. As an asset. A shield. A bargaining chip. Probably more. She wasn’t subtle, and she didn’t have to be.
Nami, though... her look was different.
Her eyes held a question. Complicated, quiet. Not just awe, not even fear. It was calculation, too—but with a weight behind it. She knew strength when she saw it. And she was already wondering: Could he help? Could he fight Arlong? That was the real question buried under her sweet smile. Could I be the answer to a problem she’d never asked out loud?
I returned her smile. Soft, just enough.
Then I turned away and got back to work.
The ship I’d pushed—nothing but a hollowed-out shell. The girls had stripped it of everything. Everything. The sails, the wheel, the polished banister carvings. They even yanked out storage planks from the lower deck. I wouldn’t be surprised if they took the nails, lted them down, and sold them as scrap.
I wrapped a rope around my waist and lowered myself over the side of the oak ship. Needed to check the damage.
Wasn’t bad. A few rough scrapes from the earlier impact. So dents. A crack near the stern, but nothing that risked sinking. Solid oak, built to survive worse than what we’d thrown at it. I climbed back up and walked toward the lower deck, where light bled from a crack in the wooden wall. I grabbed a loose plank and nailed it into place, plugging the hole with a few solid strikes.
This ship was valuable. Enough to fetch a fine price. Second only to the bounty corpses.
Once everything was patched, I jumped down to my smaller vessel—the one that had carried through hellish waters for months. It was scratched, bruised, but still floating. Still mine. I tied a rope at both ends and climbed back up to the deck of the oak ship.
Then ca the hard part.
Pulling the damn thing up.
Each tug was like dragging a dead animal through the sand. My hands blistered, back flexed, arms shaking. But I kept pulling. Slowly. Gradually. Inch by inch. The girls watched, curious but quiet, and I knew what they were thinking.
Why go through all this trouble?
The answer ca when I got the boat fully onboard and lashed it down. No escape. No backdoor. If the girls were tempted to vanish with the loot, they’d have to steal from under my nose. I smiled at them. A silent ssage. They got it imdiately.
No path but forward with .
But mostly it was for the prisoner.
The prisoners, the few I left alive, were put to work. One adjusted the sails under Carina’s supervision. Another loaded and catalogued what loot they hadn’t already dragged across. The girls stood over them like hawks, eyes sharp, words cutting. They weren’t being kind, but they weren’t cruel either. Just efficient. Focused. I didn’t interfere.
My attention drifted back to the ship I’d pushed away. Empty. Hollow. Bare wood. No sails, no crew, no purpose. A dead vessel floating like a ghost. I walked over to the four cannons we hadn’t used—loaded, prid, practically begging for release.
I gripped one and aid. The others followed, all pointed directly at the stripped ship.
I paused, just for a breath.
Then I lit the fuses.
One by one, they flared to life—short, violent hisses before the thunder ca. The cannons fired in rapid succession, recoiling with raw power. Wood splintered in the distance, the old ship cracking, shuddering, and finally giving way. Water rushed in. It listed to one side, then the other. Slowly, inevitably, it began to sink.
I wasn’t done. I reloaded the cannon once more and lit the fuse. I aid one all at 45 degree and fired. They all missed. The ship was too near and the force sent the cannonballs too far, too fast, too high.
So I tried once more this ti aiming directly at the ship and all hit breaching the hull as water sward in and the ship fell faster than ever.
A new ho for sea creatures. A wreck to mark the battle.
The girls stood by, arms folded. Nami’s hair whipped in the wind as she looked on, no words, just watching. Carina gave a low whistle, impressed.
On the deck, we each moved like pieces in a quiet routine. The girls barked orders to the crew. I checked ropes, tightened knots, examined our supplies. The sea was calm, the air sharp with salt and gunpowder.
-------
Two days till landfall.
That’s what Nami had said, with her usual blend of confidence and authority, standing near the helm as the wind teased her hair. We were finally nearing civilization, finally approaching a port. I didn’t know what kind of reception waited for us there—marines, rchants, or mayhem—but for now, the sea was calm, the sails were full, and the night promised quiet.
I tied up the prisoner again—tightly this ti. The man had made the mistake of pretending he’d twisted his ankle earlier, only to try for the ropes. He got a fist to the jaw and a second set of knots for his trouble. Now he wasn’t going anywhere. Satisfied, I stepped back into the ship’s main cabin, ready to relax, or at least pretend to.
I opened the door, and the first thing I saw was her.
Carina. Reclined across the cushions like a woman in a painting—strategically lit by the lamplight, posed just right, and dressed in lingerie that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Lavender silk. Soft lace. It matched her hair and clashed perfectly with her intentions.
And I’ll be honest—I liked what I saw.
She had positioned herself in the exact spot I’d notice first when stepping in. Which told two things. One, she was confident. And two, she was planning sothing.
Still, after all the teasing she and Nami had inflicted on these last few days—strategic leaning, sudden breathy moans, entirely accidental touches—I figured I was due a little payback.
I didn’t rush. I walked over, cool and collected, and took the seat beside her. She shifted slightly, angling her legs across my lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. I let my hands wander, slow, exploratory. She gave no protest—just a glance. One of those "I see you, but I’m letting it happen" kind of looks. A deal between co-conspirators.
Her skin was soft. Warr than I expected. The lingerie fit her perfectly, framing her figure like it was made for her. My hands moved slowly—knees, thighs, the slope of her hip. When I looked at her, I wore a smirk. She returned it.
The air between us shifted. Not serious, not exactly playful—sothing in between. My fingers kept moving. Up to her stomach, tracing the edge of the lace. I didn’t push. Just touched, curious, light. My hand slid higher, fingers brushing along her ribs, then across the gentle curve of her chest, no more aggressive than a passing breeze. Her breathing deepened—not from fear, not from want—but from awareness. She was watching . Feeling every inch. And I was watching her right back.
I let my hand drift upward, trailing along the line of her neck, then gently cupped her chin and tilted her face to mine. Eyes t. Hers had sothing in them—interest, calculation, but also a flicker of hesitation. Just a glimr.
I smiled.
My thumb dragged along her lower lip, then gave it a playful pull. She inhaled sharply. Held it. Waited. Then tapped her nose. Gently. Playfully.
And I flicked her forehead.
A clean, solid tap.
She flinched, then rubbed the spot like I’d smacked her with a cannonball. Her eyes went narrow. That "you’ll die alone" stink-eye that won seed to master.
I grinned, all teeth.
I had seen it—that tiny flicker of uncertainty. So I didn’t push. Didn’t need to. A tease was enough. A well-executed flick more satisfying than a clumsy attempt at sothing deeper. It gave the high ground and let her keep her mystery.
She knew I’d noticed her hesitation. And I knew she noticed mine too.
Mutual mischief. Mutually respected boundaries.
Still, judging by how her legs stayed draped over , she knew I wanted it. While I did like her forwardness. She knew I didn’t like it to be easy and without any hesitations. We exchanged a glance and then both started laughing.
It was the easy kind of laughter. The kind that fills space without tension. The kind that says yeah, we’re playing gas, but we’re both having fun.
Right then—of course—was when the door slamd open.
Nami.
Her eyes locked onto us—Carina in lingerie, legs over , my hand resting casually on her thigh.
"HENTAI!" she shrieked.
She actually scread the word like she was summoning a demon. Her eyes went wild, her hands up as if to shield herself from a corrupting aura. I blinked. Carina, still grinning, didn’t even flinch. Instead, she leaned into the mont.
She curled into and gave Nami the most wicked little smile I’ve ever seen.
I could practically hear Nami’s blood pressure spiking.
Just when it looked like she was about to storm in and start swinging, Carina stood up—unhurried, graceful, and started slipping back into her clothes right in front of us. No sha. No modesty. Just slow, practiced movents. Each button, each tug of fabric was its own kind of performance.
I turned my head towards the scene. Mostly. I an... I had to make sure she was getting dressed properly, right?
I was a gentleman after all.
She walked past with a smirk and leaned in to whisper sothing to Nami—soft, too quiet for to hear.
Whatever it was, it worked.
Nami’s face turned red for a different reason. She crossed her arms and huffed but dropped the attitude. Gave one last glare, a final warning look, and then moved past both of us to the table at the far end of the cabin.
She was carrying paper, compass, pencils. Mapmaking tools. All clean and precise. She set them out carefully on the wide wooden table and unrolled a blank map, placing tiny paperweights at the corners to hold it flat.
I was tempted. Just a bit. After teasing Carina, it felt only fair to shift so attention to Nami. A prank maybe. A light joke. A little payback for before. I even stood halfway from the sofa.
But then I saw her.
Not the thief. Not the distraction. Not the storm-tempered woman who’d scread at a minute ago. Just Nami. Focused. Calm. In her elent.
She didn’t notice I was watching.
Her fingers moved with purpose, tracing lines only she could see. She held the compass lightly, drawing curves along the edge of the paper, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A small crease ford at the corner of her mouth every ti she recalculated sothing. Every tool she picked up seed to lt into her hand.
I sat back down.
She had trusted enough to let see this side of her—this quiet, essential part of who she was. This wasn’t seduction. This wasn’t mischief. This was her heart. Navigation, planning, precision.
Disturbing her now, even for sothing as harmless as teasing, would’ve been foolish.
So I didn’t.
I just sat there, on the sofa, the low lamp casting warm shadows across the cabin. Carina, now fully dressed, leaned beside the door humming to herself. Nami was charting the seas we’d sail tomorrow, the ones we she had sailed and the ones she had yet to sail. Outside the windows, the stars shimred against the waves, the sky stretching wide and endless.
For once, the ship was still. The crew quiet. No alarms. No drama.
Just a navigator making her map. A thief pretending not to steal glances. And —watching them both.
There was a peace in that mont that didn’t need explanation.
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