The last time he went to save her, he was only thinking one thing. It was amazing how those three little words had him hauling ass to the island. They drove him as he gently rocked with the boat. And when he found out they were after him, his past put her at risk, they fueled him to accept the blow through his hand (and that had fucking hurt) and run his blade through the son of bitch before him.
Those three little words were all he could think about as he swam to shore and dragged his tired, wounded body out of the water. His hand stung from the salt, his legs were sore from the swim, but he wouldn't stop.
That look on her face, full of shock and awe and something else he couldn't quite define. Fear, maybe. Or relief. It didn't really matter. He was there for one reason alone. He'd put down his sword for her safety. He'd cut the rope himself, just to be sure she could get the hell out. But she wouldn't fucking leave. How could he do his job if she didn't leave? She wouldn't leave because she thought he was gonna die. And he'd done the only thing he could think of: tell her to have a little faith in him. He couldn't die just yet. He had one thing left to do.
Look after Fuu.