"You're free now," Usopp had said to Nami, sincerity welling up in his round eyes, honesty in the calloused hand wrapped around her arm, the heady smell of wood covering him like a blanket. Then, in a moment, all tenderness was lost, and he danced back onto the deck, full of childish vigor, but Nami held the image of those serious eyes in her mind's eye.
Freedom. It was such a foreign concept that she had difficulty grasping it; had she been a weaker woman, it would have driven her to tears. It had driven her to tears, rocking below deck in the room she had to herself, smelling the salt water, feeling the beli in her hands, hearing the snores from the other room and knowing that it was hers. All hers. And she didn't have to stay, only stayed because she wanted to, because she loved.
Sometimes, she wondered if freedom was all there was to it. She couldn't imagine Luffy as anything but free, straw hat askew and smile crooked. And Zoro couldn't be anything but free, face callous and cruel until she found him asleep on the deck. And Sanji, in all his twisting glory, one arm extended to her in love and food extended in battle.
But that left Usopp, messy haired, quick tongued, awkward limbed; could he be anything but free? Then, like a shot, she realized what it meant, watching his hands against Going Merry. It meant being able to tell his stories, and for nobody to laugh. Freedom meant being treated like a man. Freedom meant being afraid but knowing that it's iall right/i.
So maybe they weren't chasing adventure. Maybe they weren't chasing dreams. Hell, maybe they weren't chasing One Piece.
They chased freedom, and that tasted sweeter than any treasure.