Methyl Nitrate Pineapples

by razbliuto

All Sophie wanted to do was make bombs and go to war for the World Government. Naturally, she ends up strapped to an operating table with a pirate injecting poison into her foot. Sometimes you gotta take a few detours before you find your way home. — LawOC.

24. Echoes From Waters Deep

Thank you's to me hearties: BlackDove WhiteDove, Momochan77, read a rainbow, Riler-Cooper123, student loans, CrazyAnamarija, Wow, EunLi, bookdragonslayer, muffinfudger, HHHHHHH, Alkitty, Volleys-chan, Anya Ishikawa, rya-fire1, Kinjiru, ClosetCase, DreamsoftheDamn, scarletmisha, ays102, traffy's hat, sarge1130, and Lucinda M. H. Cheshir!

—

methyl nitrate pineapples
hypothesis #24

echoes from waters deep

—

"The Baron captured his plump lips, and their tongues battled for dominance—"

"Can you imagine the saliva?" Sophie critiqued as she laid prone on the sickbay bed. "That sounds repulsive."

The storyteller glared the demonic energy channeled by a thousand trashy romance novels.

"Forgive my impudence, Lord Hai Xing. Continue."

It was safe to say that though Sophie was consigned to the bed and told to keep as still as she could without moving her torso, she didn't experience a dull moment.

"Sophie, help." Bepo showed her his hand. "I've forgotten the rules already."

"Check," she said grimly, and Bepo pushed square pieces of Machinastein dark chocolate into the pile.

"Check. Don't you think it's a bit mean to pair the bear with the bed-ridden?" Penguin asked.

Shachi was stone-faced. "I want my desserts, Penguin. Check."

They laid out their hands.

Puzzled, Bepo turned his cards over. Royal flush. Grinning evilly, Sophie used her feet to scoop over the packaged chocolates.

"What!" Valross cried.

"Where are you keeping your extra cards?" Shachi demanded.

Sophie gaped. "Extra—are y-you cheating?"

"We're pirates, Sophie," said Penguin, fishing out cards inside his sleeve. "We're all cheating."

Law took off his hat and three cards fell out. He shrugged and pushed his pile of chocolate to Bepo, but Sophie thought she had seen him deal several face cards into the mink's hand.

"What game are we playing again?" Bepo inquired.

Kamasu and Anko arm-wrestled for the last bit of chocolate—unaware it was already being eaten by an oblivious mink—and Law gave up telling his crew to let her rest when he saw how she was laughing. Penguin was overly polite to Hai Xing and Anko, which meant things were still weird, but Sophie was half-addled on painkillers to devote any brain cells to the matter.

As the evening wore on and grew quieter, Manta took Hai Xing's place by her bedside and strummed his mandolin, light and sweet. Her eyes closed, drifting away to the music.

When she slept, she dreamed of fire raining down like falling stars.

Marching across the Viran wastes in her wartime uniform, the sun red and bloated like a ripe persimmon. The gnarled, bone-white ceiba tree. Carvings of marines as they trampled Machinastein's ancient empire beneath their wooden feet. Swords plunging through those attempting to flee, wood chips bursting out like blood.

An enormous man in a feathery pink coat clapping in the flames, morphing a crack of light in a door that Sophie peered through, a long silver memory from eleven years ago, Teresa shaking as she sobbed furiously, blaming me for his death, all because of some stupid kid he was trying save—

Sophie twisted in her sleep.

She woke up screaming.

A hand on her shoulder. A bucket in front of her. Hai Xing's fantastic dinner came out in hunks of acidic fire. It burned up her throat and brought tears to her eyes.

"Breathe," Law said in what might've been an attempt at soothing. She wanted to claw his mouth off.

"D-don't need to breathe," she gasped, "need drugs."

"You've had far enough painkillers." He raised a cup of water. "Here, drink."

She knocked it aside, expecting to hear a satisfyingly loud shatter. But no—Law had snatched from the cup in the air, and was setting it calmly back on the desk. He wasn't even letting her throw a tantrum in peace.

"Drugs," she snarled, glaring with the full force of her agony, hoping he could sense that she was throttling him in her mind and peeing on his future gravestone.

"Shut up," he recommended.

"Die."

Law responded to this vicious threat upon his life by holding her hair back as she heaved into the bucket again.

Two fingers found her wrist as he timed the rate of her heartbeat and his other hand went to her stomach, lifting up the cotton pad. The bloody gash strained against the stitches, pulling itself into a scar.

He was a nebulous shadow against the lone, half-melted candle on the desk. A good night's sleep and he was already walking around without a wince. She fell back against her pillow, fingers digging into her palm to keep herself from swearing incessantly from the pain. Why does being normal have to hurt this much?

"How long have you been there? Watching me in my sleep…"

Law settled back on the chair next to the bed. He picked up a medical book that had fallen out of his hands and set it back in his lap, like he had been there, reading. "I knew this was going to happen. Broken ribs 101. You looked like you were having a nightmare."

"W-was I?" Falling stars and burning arrows. Civilizations destroyed. Flamingos. "Don't r-remember."

"You're a shit liar."

"How dare you. I think I'm pretty good."

The corner of his mouth lifted wryly. He leaned forward, resting his perfectly-working arms on his knees. The staggering difference of recovery between them was ridiculous.

"Did it come with your Devil Fruit powers? This whole superhuman healing business."

"Not exactly," Law said after a considering pause. "I got hurt a lot as a kid. A good portion of which was my own fault." He tapped the center of his chest. "The scars build up. You make new skin, develop calluses. Wounds stop bleeding as much as they used to."

She scoffed at the ceiling. "Wow. Sounds nice."

He studied her for a moment.

"Can you sit up again?" Law held out his hand, ignoring the look she shot him. "Just try it."

Teeth gritted, Sophie braced her hands palm-down on the bed and, without reaching for his offered help, sat upright. The simple movement seared, but it wasn't intolerable. Not like earlier, how twisting around felt like getting stabbed by a white-hot poker.

"I don't think it'll take too much time." He regarded her with slight curiosity. "Getting shot in the stomach didn't seem to hinder you in the fight."

Sophie had an inkling where this was heading. "That's because I barely fought."

"You were able to stand and walk around from the moment you woke up the other day."

I'm not like you, she wanted to say.

"So," Sophie said, "what."

"So," he replied, "your scars have been building up."

She thought about it. Coincidental data, baseless conclusion.

"I'd prefer drugs."

—

As flattering as it was that Law thought she was healing faster than the average marine-turned-traitor-chemist, Sophie spent the next three days lying in bed until she couldn't take the stink any longer. She wished she could tell herself this was the fragrant scent of classy garbage—gárbâgé, if you will—but no. Just garbage.

With the acrid smell of sweat floating behind her, she hobbled to the communal bathroom and flung open the door. She heard voices inside, but it didn't matter—marines enjoyed limited privacy, after all. This was nothing.

The chatting voices abruptly stopped. A group of naked men turned in the direction of the jarring noise, and shrieked.

"Hi," Sophie said, entering fearlessly.

"S-S-Sophie-chan? D-do you need something?" Shachi blubbered, holding up a wooden washbowl to cover himself.

"I want to shower."

"NO," the Hearts collectively roared.

"W-we haven't cleaned it yet!" Penguin said in a panic, wrapping a towel around his waist. "Avert your eyes!"

"I'm sure it's not that bad—oh, oh my god, that's a lot of hair. And a-are those b-baby mushrooms growing in the corner?"

"DON'T LET HER ENTER," Valross bellowed. "ONE GLANCE AND SHE'LL LEAVE THE CREW."

Manta's glistening muscles took up a good portion of her vision. "Forgive me, little lady, for I must block you with this beautiful body of mine!"

"WE CANNOT LET YOU BATHE IN OUR FILTH, SOPHIE-CHAN," Shachi sobbed. "IT'S FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY."

"Hey! Where the pineapples am I going to shower!?" Sophie shrieked, getting shoved back outside the hallway by four pairs of hands.

—

"Yeah, go ahead," Law said, and tossed her a towel.

She inspected it. "This… is clean, right?"

The man who was so graciously lending her the bathroom in his cabin didn't seem to appreciate her questioning his hygiene and/or laundry habits. She quickly scampered inside and locked the door, letting Law continue to read undisturbed at his desk.

The tiled floor was cold against her feet. His bathroom was small, but clean. Bare would be a more accurate term. A toothbrush and a cup sat on the sink, a razorblade and shaving cream and a handful pill bottles were kept in the medicine cabinet. Mostly pain-relievers and sleeping aids, seemed to be well-used. Pipes that pumped clean water covered the ceiling and made their way down to the bathtub.

A lovely porthole sat over the tub, filling the bathroom with golden lamplight from the submarine's outside lights. Silhouettes of passing fish swam over the walls. Ah, this would be the perfect place to take advantage of Law's generosity, draw a steaming bath, comb coconut oil through her hair, and unwind…

Her gaze wandered down, and Sophie gasped like she witnessed a murder scene. No, actually, this was worse.

There was only a bar of soap in his tub.

Repeat, one bar of soap. No loofah, no shampoo, no conditioner, no oils for frizzy, curly hair.

She had been too pampered by the Jaguar Temple, with all their nice amenities. This! This was the true face of the ocean! It was cruel and unforgiving, and decimated those who lacked preparation!

Grumbling in defeat, she wriggled out of her clothes and set them on a hanger bar. She traced the dark violet bruises smeared like oil paint across her chest. The largest one was almost as big as her hand, with all her fingers splayed out. A greenish-yellow bruise on her forehead, another on her jaw.

She studied herself in the mirror with a faint, detached smile, and blinked. Her eyes widened.

I'm naked in Trafalgar Law's bathroom.

She inhaled wrong and flopped over the sink, hacking out a lung.

"You okay?" he called through the door.

"Yep!" Sophie trilled casually, covering her face in mind-numbing horror.

She wrenched open the shower faucet, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. She jumped in when it became scalding hot and stuck her head underneath the showerhead, inhaling a steamy sigh of relief.

Then she peered at the used bar of soap sitting on the edge. Was she just supposed to scrub the thing he scrubbed all over his body on her body? How unhygienic!

Gingerly and very reluctantly, Sophie rubbed the bar over her hands to get it sudsy. She ran her soapy hands over her the curve of her stomach, her breath quickening—she was standing in the bathtub that Law used, who was just behind the door and knew she was using his soap. Her hands slid up, over her arms, then pressed lightly into the undersides of her breasts—

"Ow, ow, ow!"

There was a knock on the door. "Okay in there?"

"Fine—ow!"

"That doesn't sound fine. Need help?"

Sophie banged her knee against the wall. "Absolutely—OW—not!"

She could hear him rolling his eyes. "Suit yourself."

Need help? Need help!? What did that even mean!? What sort of help was he talking about!? Was he going to pull a loofah out of nowhere and show her how shameless he could be!? It then occurred to her that doors and locks wouldn't stop him from entering, not if he really wanted to—

Sophie yanked the shower from blistering hot to freezing cold.

Then she discovered another problem she should've expected.

She wrapped a towel tight around herself and exited the bathroom with her head held high.

"I don't have any clean clothes," she announced primly.

—

After she finished desecrating various items in his closet, Law recommended that she stretch her legs.

Sophie adjusted the seat of her pants as she roamed the hallways, letting her hair dry and looking for something to do.

She wore a pair of grey sweatpants that she had to roll several times over her ankles. One of his big, yellow sweaters—for he had a few—with a ubiquitous Heart Pirates jolly roger on the front was sawed off at Sophie's middle, the long sleeves cut off to resemble a t-shirt hoodie. She also swiped one of his cotton shirts and wrapped her hair in it, tying it around her head to let it dry faster and curl better.

Law, for his part, made it clear that he was only allowing this to stop her from looking so pathetic.

In front of the broom closet that she was considering her room once she graduated from the sickbay, Manta sat cross-legged, cleaning his shotgun.

"Shachi's inside, and he says you're not allowed in."

There was muffled banging coming from in there, and the sound of a power drill. Now she was really curious…

"Manta-san, your moustache looks splendiferous today," she simpered, blinking her eyes.

"I know." The large man winked at her, all chiseled jaw and braided hair with a pretty pink ribbon at the end.

Her smile dropped into a flat glare. She was beat.

Bepo was dozing off in the men's quarters, surrounded by the glittering haul they had stolen from CP5. Anko was in the control room, his tattooed brown ankles resting on the console as he scribbled on a crossword puzzle. Hai Xing was in the galley, as usual.

The air was quiet; the deep dark ocean was peaceful.

With nothing better to do, she was about to head back to the sickbay when she bumped into Penguin.

"I don't smell like a feral raccoon digging through trash anymore," Sophie greeted, twirling around to show him.

"Sorry about earlier," he said with a sheepish grin. "We really should've considered this when you joined the crew. It's our only bathroom, aside from the one in Cap's cabin."

"It's okay. There are curtains around the showerheads, right? I'll use that when I'm in there."

"I guess that'll do for the time being." He rubbed his forehead, looking faintly distressed. "We'll have to get used to you walking around in there. With us."

"I'm fine with it," she said honestly.

Penguin gripped Sophie by the shoulders. "I'm glad you have no shame when it comes to viewing our chiseled, manly bodies—"

"I really don't. Do you know how many naked corpses I've seen? I could give Law-san a run for his beli."

"—but please have mercy upon us."

She patted his hand. "I'll cover my eyes and do my best."

"That's all I can ask of you—hey! Done already?"

"For today." Shachi pulled down the kerchief he wore around his mouth and used it to mop his sweaty forehead.

"What sin are you committing in my broom closet?" Sophie inquired.

"You'll be grateful when it's finished. You'll be calling me Shachi-sama."

"I look forward to it," she said dryly.

He grinned. "So do I."

A toolbelt jangled heavily on Shachi's waist, catching her eye. Out of curiosity, Sophie asked if they all had different jobs as mechanics. It was something she wondered before, but assumed everyone shared the same tasks.

It turned out that Shachi handled all the auxiliary mechanics. Hydraulics, plumbing, ventilation, anything that involved the cabins. Penguin worked with the main engine and the propulsion system. Kamasu operated the boilers that provided power to the main engine, turbo generators, and various auxiliary systems, and Valross looked after the freshwater generating equipment.

Despite their specializations, each of them were well-versed in each other's craft that they could step in if one needed help. She had to admit that was quite impressive.

She leaned against a porthole, nodding as they spoke and absently tracing a finger down the metal rim. It came back dusty. Definitely needed a good wipe…

"Have you spoken with Hai Xing?"

She rubbed the dust off, looking up at Shachi. "A bit. Why?"

"He hasn't really talked to us about anything, and…" Penguin took his hat off to rake his hands through his short brown hair. "Never mind, it's dumb."

"Hold on. You're the type to ignore whatever's bothering you until it kills you. And you, Shachi, are going to mope until you die. If you have something to say, you should say it, right?"

Their expressions made it clear that ignoring, moping, and death would be so much simpler.

—

That night, Sophie thought about the roles on this ship.

The four mechanics. Bepo the navigator. Hai Xing the chef.

Then there were the positions that were a bit more flexible.

Anko was the main helmsman, but he and Manta, who was the gunner of the ship and also frequented the control room, switched whenever Anko needed a break. On rare occasions, it could also be handed off to the mechanics, Bepo, or Law if need be. Law himself was the captain and doctor, and because of his extensive knowledge of the daily workings of the sub, he also kept the logbook.

They had been a crew of nine men, maintaining a large, complex submarine on their own. Chemist wasn't exactly a role on a ship. She wanted to properly help.

Sophie tapped her fingers on her stomach, her eyes closed but unable to sleep, thinking. Her specific job had to be something practical. Something useful. Something she was good at. Which severely limited the field of options, but…

With a jolt, her eyes flew open and she lifted her arm to smack herself before remembering—

"Ow!"

—

In the middle of lunch, Sophie stood up and banged a broom in the middle of the galley. She found it awkwardly stuffed in the men's quarters, where it was used to bat away any seagulls that flew inside when the portholes were open. (She had to wipe the feathers and blood off before trooping into the galley.)

"I AM," Sophie declared, "THE JANITOR."

The crew chuckled. Clearly amazed by her genius.

"Ah…" Shachi reached forward, sunglasses glittering, "our bathroom…"

"Absolutely not," Sophie returned swiftly. "You're grown men and you'll clean that up yourselves."

As Shachi wept on Manta's shoulder, Law remarked, "Aren't you our resident arsonist?"

"Striking fear in the hearts of men wherever you go," Anko said, biting into his bread. "I mean, not us. But some man. Out there. Probably."

Penguin snorted, then covered that up with a cough.

"Everyone here has a role," Sophie said cheerily. "I want to do my part, too."

"Nice thinking, little lady."

"Definitely appreciated." Valross grinned over his cup.

"Then, because I'm still recovering, I was thinking today we could all clean the ship from top to bottom! Doesn't that sound marvelous?"

"What? Come on!"

"We got things to do, Sophie-chan!"

"That," Law said, "is a good idea. It's been a long while since we've done any real cleaning."

The silence was filled with the empty gazes of pirates betrayed by their captain.

He nodded at them all, smirking. "I'll let you get started on that."

He turned to leave and jerked back, standing chest-to-nose with Sophie.

"Where do you think you're going?" she inquired, smiling. "Aren't group activities a wonderful way to build morale? Aren't you going to lead your crew and show us how it's done? Cleanliness is next to godliness and therefore Pirate Kingliness, isn't it?"

Law's smirk strained.

They stared at each other.

Fight, his men willed.

Floofy curls bounced around her cheeks as she giggled daintily. "A captain should lead by example, yes?"

FIGHT! his men cried in their souls.

Despite all evidence supporting the contrary, it was possible for the Surgeon of Death to blink first.

"Going by your potentially flawed perception… one could… possibly conclude that is a reasonable suggestion."

"I wholeheartedly agree with your deduction and look forward to parsing the results!"

The Hearts all looked at each other.

"Monster," Anko said.

—

Carrying a mop and bucket, Sophie strode by the battle noises, muffled screams, and flashes of Law's blue Room coming from the bathroom.

It was noticeably warmer in the belly of the submarine. Water condensed on the steam pipes and humming turbines. Artificial lights were fitted on the ground, casting an underlit glow to everything and reminding Sophie of a subterranean cavern. She had been inside the engine room before, and she sort of liked that the homey sort of clutter was still there; empty plates, dog-eared books, and tools. Signs of life among all the metal parts.

"Yo. Welcome to the pit."

She looked up.

Valross stuck his head out between pipes on the ceiling, his green headband catching the white hair threatening to fall over his face. Sophie hadn't even noticed there was space up there for someone to wiggle through.

He jumped down and held a rag completely blackened with greasy gunk. "Ta-da!"

"I don't know whether to be impressed or disgusted," she said, and thought about it. "Yeah, I'm disgusted."

"This place needed a good scrub." Penguin emerged with his own broom and a dustpan. "The Polar Tang is our home." He lightly knocked the tip of the broom against the wall, all fondness. "We gotta treat her well."

Wait. "Polar Tang?"

"Yeah. The sub."

"It's called the Polar Tang?"

Penguin looked at her like she was dumb. "We literally say it all the time around you, Sophie."

She wracked her memory and came up with, "No. Anyway, aren't tang…"

"They're tropical fish," Shachi helpfully supplied, poking his head out between two engines and wielding a dirty sponge.

"There are no tangs that live in polar regions?"

"This one does," Penguin said.

"…You couldn't have picked a fish that does live in the polar regions?"

"She doesn't understand, Shachi."

"Of course she wouldn't, Penguin. Tangs are also known as surgeonfish."

"Doctorfish, as it were."

Sophie stared at them. She stared at the ceiling. She stared out the porthole. "I am living in a giant, yellow, metal pun of a ship."

"And you love it, right?"

"…I l-l-love it! I love it so much!" Sophie cried, covering her face in sheer delight as the other pirates whooped.

"Loud ass monkeywrenchers…" Kamasu passed by them. Long, dark hair that tinged purple in the light, heavy-lidded eyes, scars cutting across his face. How old was he, twenty-eight, twenty-nine? Definitely the oldest of the mechanics.

The other three tugged at Sophie's arm, beckoning her over past the turbines, following Kamasu. Now this was something she hadn't seen.

"There she is," Shachi sighed like a yearning lover.

The main engine, loud yet sweet-sounding, the constant fwish of the cylinders chugging away. The generator flickered with lights. Numerous dials dotted the engine, measuring the pressure, adorned with wheel-shaped turning gears. The beating heart of the submarine.

What a feat of engineering.

She knew from her own experience that it must've been hell. Beneath this collection of machinery was a mountain of sleepless nights, countless hours, and failures. The blood, sweat, and tears they put into mastering their craft, to build a home…

"Cool, huh?" Penguin grinned. They stood in the engine room as though it was so easy, perfectly ordinary.

"Yeah." You guys are.

Sophie settled a hand against the wall. It was breathing. Every little puff of steam, creak of the metal veins, little gears of the arteries turning in perpetual motion—

Polar Tang.

The submarine hummed gently in response.

—

Bepo sat at the very edge of the bow, a fishing pole in his paws, looking out into the horizon. It was a warm, lazy afternoon, gulls flying low and skimming the surface of the ocean.

St. Poplar was another week's sail away. Their black market was notorious across the Grand Line, and Law wanted to poke around before sailing onward to the Sabaody Archipelago.

She sat on the deck, doing stretching exercises to loosen up. Her fingertips grasped the toe of her boot and she tucked her forehead into her knee. Beside her, Law had Kikoku out of its black sheathe and was polishing the blade with choji oil, light and fragrant.

"Ever heard stories of the Kitetsu swordsmiths?" he asked, studying the nodachi for any greasy finger marks.

"Didn't they make cursed swords? Their owners all died throughout history, or something." She turned her neck and rested her cheek flat on her knee, squinting. "Is that one of them?"

Law shook his head. "Though, I'm starting to think this one is cursed."

"Spooky," Sophie laughed, and her bullet wound gave a twinge of pain. She'd been carrying Kikoku at that moment, her blood watering its blade… "Why aren't you affected?"

"My curse is definitely stronger," he said with no trace of irony.

"Poor thing, to have you as its master."

"Hm." Law sounded like he didn't particularly disagree. "There are Graded swords made with such craft that they'll never need sharpening." His strong, callused fingers lightly touched the handle. When he rubbed the blade with choji oil, it was more like a caress. "Kikoku isn't one of them."

Now there was a thought. Trafalgar Law, traipsing all over North Blue and picking up a hugeass, randomly cursed sword along the way, one with no particularly great status.

Sophie felt a strange, new sort of kinship with the sword. Even if your dumb curse did get me shot.

The blade winked at her, light flashing.

"Can it win against a Graded sword?"

With practiced ease, Law lifted his nodachi straight in the air. The sun caught on the polished silver edge. "It'd be a fight," he said, evaluating it with pride, "but a good one."

She switched legs and stretched, imagining the earth and ocean waves splitting apart. A sight to see, someday.

From the deck above, Anko opened the control room door to air it out and wrung his rags in a bucket.

"I'm impressed," Penguin remarked, walking by Sophie and Law. "You made Anko wash something and he didn't even run away."

Flecks of dirty water scattered in the air over Penguin. Splash.

He yelped, drenched all over.

A brown mohawk appeared over the top deck's railing, holding the empty bucket. "My bad."

Penguin's mouth parted, but he caught himself and gritted his teeth.

"Oi, oi," Law began, sheathing Kikoku and standing up—

Sophie stared at the tiny drops of water that speckled her shirt. Her eyes spasmed.

"I AM SO TIRED OF THIS," she bellowed, cutting off Law. "You and you!" She pointed at a sullen Penguin and Shachi, who clutched his mop and froze like he was caught in the crosshairs. "And you!" She pointed at Anko. "If you have something to say, clench your buttholes and say it!"

The helmsman jumped down to the lower deck, big boots clomping. The other pirates stopped in the middle of the last chores of the day, turning to the sudden shouts. Bepo set his fishing pole down, his ears flat on his head in apprehension.

Law crossed his arms over his chest, glancing between his crewmates. "Clench and speak."

"I get it now, why you ran away," Penguin said fast, like he didn't want the taste of it to linger in his mouth. "That was when you learned the big secret. You weren't actually leaving; you were just throwing a tantrum."

A big secret, Sophie thought, gaze flashing to the captain.

"If you're pissed—" Anko began.

"I'm not," Penguin shot back. "Not at you."

Hai Xing paused as he threw out a bucket of dirty water overboard, then set it down.

"Okay, look," Shachi said, fidgeting with his hat. "We've been sailing together for so long. You know about our lives. But you tell us jack about yours when we ask, or you pretend you don't hear and go back to reading your stupid novels. We've always wanted to know more about you."

Teresa's terrible expression. Rosie Nonty. Bepo in the hallway. Law in the kitchen, yet somehow very far away.

Sophie bit down on her lip. His voice echoed. Please pretend like you never heard that name.

Hai Xing was quiet for a few seconds, then muttered, "My novels aren't stupid."

"For shit's sake—"

"I don't have stories so I can tell them to people. They're mine. Only mine." His gaze was flat. "I won't apologize."

It could've been a knife. Sophie felt it right in her gut, and she wasn't even the one Hai Xing was looking at.

Anko stepped in front of Penguin and Shachi. "That's it, yeah? No more of this."

Shachi's eyebrows rose over his sunglasses. "Are you serious?"

"You tried to leave the crew, in case you forgot," Penguin said flatly. "So maybe you shouldn't order us around."

"You are pissed," Anko sneered. "I'll stop if you stop throwing a fuckin' fit."

"How is that different from what you did?"

"It is different!"

"How!?"

"'Cause I haven't been here since the beginning! This whole damn crew started with you four! You don't know one thing about someone that has nothin' to do with you and you—"

"Yeah!?"

"You're being a selfish little bitch about it!"

"Fuck you—" Penguin reached for Anko and found his sand dollar necklace instead, gripped it, and the twined chords snapped.

"HEY!" Anko roared.

Sophie lurched awkwardly, stopped by the weight of Shachi's hand before she could leap forward—

Law was between them, grabbing their shoulders and wrenching them away. "That's enough."

The waves lapped softly up against the Polar Tang.

Penguin exhaled up into the wide blue sky. "Aren't we," he tossed the necklace back, "supposed to give a shit about each other? Or should I just stop caring?"

Anko caught it, breathing hard.

"…Can I, uh, just say something?" Shachi voiced, scratching his head underneath his hat. "Hai Xing, it's okay that you didn't tell us. We're just… angry at ourselves. If we were different, if we were… better, we could've looked after you. That's all we ever wanted." He sighed into his hand. "Okay, let's just go back to normal."

"Ah?" Bepo turned to Hai Xing, who spun on his heel and went below deck. "Ah?" He turned to Shachi and Penguin, who went off to resume cleaning. "…Ahhhh!"

The alarmed bear ended up racing across the deck to follow Law, his pole with an enormous fish caught on the end flopping after him.

It was an excellent visual metaphor for Sophie, whose stomach was in knots. She rubbed her hair over her face and wondering why the pineapples this was so difficult.

"It's hard to say anything when they get like that," Valross said quietly. She peeked out from her curls.

"The Heart Pirates started with those four," Manta added. "Law, Bepo, Penguin, Shachi. They're the family the rest of us joined. They opened their home to us."

"Bets on one of them leaving before the day's over—oof." Kamasu's chin hit his chest from Manta's terse smack, chuckling lazily.

Nothing was perfect. No matter how tightly a tapestry was woven, there were always going to be loose ends.

—

It seemed Anko had the same idea as her.

Sophie made it to the pantry first and grabbed the doorknob, shooting the helmsman a pointed look. He flipped her off and gestured for her to open.

Inside, Hai Xing was laying on his cot like a corpse, hands flat by his side and a book flat over his face. His shoes were only half-off, like he'd given up unlacing them.

It was cramped enough for two people, let alone three. Sophie lightly sat on the edge of his cot, next to his shelves of knitting supplies and floral-scented candles. Hai Xing's chest rose and fell erratically, which meant he wasn't asleep.

"You know… everyone… loves you so much," she told him, because it was true even if it was corny as anything. "Shachi and Penguin could never hate you."

She carefully removed the book over his face. Hai Xing's dark brown eyes were already open, looking up at the ceiling.

"It'd be easier if they did. I know how to deal with hate."

She knew, more than she'd care to admit, what that felt like…

"Like drinking fire," Anko said. His eyes were shining, but not in his usual glee. "Makes you fucking feel something."

Her scarred hand touched Hai Xing's arm. He didn't shake her off, which meant he was at least tolerating her presence, but she didn't know what to say.

A knock came from the door, and the three of them looked up.

"Just checking in." Law closed the door behind him.

Hai Xing sat up, scrubbing wearily at his face. "Dinner."

"It's fine, there are leftovers."

"I should cook something. I want to. I have to."

"You don't have to do anything." He sat next to Hai Xing and clasped him on the spot between his neck and shoulder. "That's what makes you a free man. Right?"

Anko sat on the floor with his back against the wall, playing with his necklace between his fingers. Sophie picked some scabs on her knees.

Hai Xing's hands twitched. "Right," he said, gripping them.

Law exhaled through his nose, the slope of his neck curving as he bowed it. "If you keep people at a distance," he said carefully, "then nothing can ever hurt you. That's your choice. But everyone else holds you close, so when something bad happens to you, that hurts them. And they don't know what to do about it, either."

Was he speaking from experience? Or…

For the briefest moment, Hai Xing's voice wavered. "Did I make a mistake?"

"You did what's right for yourself. That's not a mistake."

He rested his forehead on Law's shoulder. He did it tentatively, until their captain wrapped his arm over him and pressed him closer, their heads leaning against each other.

It wasn't really that Law had the charisma of a natural-born leader—he didn't. He had so much more than that. He was deliberate in his words and looked after them in ways that weren't superficial. This man, who once glared when she called them his subordinates and retorted, crewmates.

She wondered if his shoulders had always seemed so broad, with all the weight he was carrying.

Sophie cleared her throat, cupping her cheeks in her hands as she glanced at the two men beside her. "Shall I light a candle and put on some music?"

"Yes," Hai Xing said immediately.

"Hai Xing," said Law.

"Tch." Anko's face scrunched up.

"Anyway, how are we getting out of here?" Sophie stood up, trying to hop around Law and Anko. "It's too cramped!"

The door flung open again, smacking Anko in the face.

"Ow, my eye!"

"Are you feeling better, Hai Xing?" Bepo cried, shoving himself through the door.

"BEPO, NO!"

—

"Be careful," Sophie urged nervously.

"I haven't done anything yet."

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"I haven't done anything yet."

She squeezed her eyes shut to prepare herself as Law lifted the bandage off and held up a mirror.

There was a small, definite scar across the upper bridge of her nose. It wasn't very noticeable unless she stood in the right light. A nice addition to her ever-growing collection of scars.

"You set the bone well." Eyes wide in appreciation, she turned her head left and right. "It's not crooked or anything."

"Did you expect anything else?"

She bit back a smile, amused by his nonchalant tone, swinging her feet off the edge of the bed.

The check-up was standard procedure. He took her blood pressure, took a vial of her blood, gave a wicked smirk when he wrote down X-, universal donor, listened to her heartbeat through her shirt, and various other tests.

Then it was time.

"I'll remind you," he slowly began lifting her shirt up from the bottom, "if you move to attack me, you'll probably tear something important."

"Better hope I won't attack you, then," she said, pointblank.

He stopped and elucidated, "I've been looking at bodies since I was a kid. These sacks of flesh we wear all look the same to me."

Sophie was reminded how she spoke to Penguin and gritted her teeth. This is karmic retribution.

Her shirt went up her stomach. He stopped again. "If you're too embarrassed, we don't have t—"

"Just do it." Freaking pineapples. She was an ex-soldier, and bodies were just bodies.

Her chest was out, bare and small and slightly paler than the rest of her.

His cold palm on her ribcage, pressing gently. "Inhale."

She did, staring at the space over Law's head. Sophie was five-foot-eight—above average and a sturdy woman—but if he spread his long, tattooed hands across her sternum, fingertips touching, he could cover it fully. Subtle observations that are entirely unnecessary.

"How are you feeling?"

"Wishing I had a bottle of octogen to explode both of us." It was definitely the only bodily urge she was comfortable processing at the moment.

"Make it chlorine and ammonia. That way it can dissolve the remains so clean-up will be easier."

"Oh my pineapples! You're so right." Sophie was briefly lost in the annoyance of not thinking of that first.

"Inhale again. Any pain?"

"A… little. Nothing too bad." At least she could lift her hands over her head, finally.

"Your body's healing unusually fast," Law muttered. "Not by much, granted, but it's something."

Sophie raised her eyebrows. "Sure," she said. "Okay." In the Grand Line, surrounded by people who could talk to fish or attach heads to butts, what did that matter?

"You cauterized this wound, didn't you?"

Without touching, he traced the scar on her stomach. It was on the opposite side of the bullet wound, about two inches long. A plane of glass breaking from G-13's wall, hitting her right in the gut. It healed almost well, leaving behind charred pink skin. She thought it looked lovely in a strange way, but she knew, objectively, any sane person would call her body a horrifying patchwork of scars.

But whatever, screw it.

"Cute, huh?" Sophie said dreamily.

His lips tilted, concurring. "Exquisite," he said, lowering her shirt back down.

Something within her… sighed.

—

It's nothing, she told herself over dinner.

It's nothing, she told herself, watching the ocean shadows ripple on the sickbay's wall and scratching her old burns.

It's nothing, she told herself as the sun rose.

It's nothing, she told herself as she brushed her teeth, ignoring the 'kyaaa's from the guys as they passed by her in towels.

It's nothing, she told herself over breakfast.

The spoon clattered from her fingers as Anko's shout crackled over the speaking tubes: "IT'S TOA SANG BAY!"

—

Lush karst formations, the peak of mountains that had long ago fallen undersea, cast shadows over the Polar Tang as they cut the engine and prepared to drop anchor.

The towering rocks were the last remnants of the mountainous island that once covered Toa Sang Bay, eroded by the ocean's currents centuries ago. What stood in the sunken island's place was a massive, colorful floating village; an assortment of shanty boats and wooden bridges nailed together. Trader ships were scattered across the bay, fisherwomen hauled in their catch, flat-bottomed sampans plied the waters.

It was a good place to sell off the pirate's treasure and Machinastein gold they stole (or stole back, from the Hearts' view) from CP5. The kitchen also needed restocking, and the rest of the crew agreed they wanted to stretch their legs.

Sophie tied the white sleeves of her boiler suit around her waist, newly adjusted thanks to Hai Xing. It fit much better now, but was still loose and comfortable to move in. She fixed her hair, tightening her curls into a ponytail, as she walked along the deck.

The weather was warm, sunlight glittering across the water, mesmerizing. As they drew closer, they passed fishermen hoisting up dried salt fish in their junks and a tiny wooden house standing over the bay on precarious stilts. An old man dozed off on the shaky ledge, fishing pole clutched loosely in his hands.

It was so beautiful that Sophie didn't want to even blink.

But the yawn was impossible to force away, and she rubbed her eyes, unable to hide a long, loud exhale as footsteps came up behind her.

"Bad sleep?"

"It's nothing," she said firmly. "Hey—look!"

The Hearts ran over. Hands clenched the railing, peering overboard. She jumped off her feet and leaned out as far as she could, shouting in delight, and almost tipped over before Law grabbed her by the back of her shirt.

The aquamarine water was so clear they could see enormous fish swimming by. Iridescent sharks, basa fish, and arowana with vibrant orange scales glistening like little dragons.

When they arrived at the docks, she was the first one off the Polar Tang.

She missed the sound of a hundred people around her, walking, clothes rustling, pockets jingling, shouting and singing and the pier creaking underneath the swell of movement, the waves lapping against the wooden pillars. Carts rattled, shaking the wooden bridge. Bright, vivacious, beautiful.

Sophie spun around in the middle of the bridge, drinking in the new sights and sounds and smells, and only paused when the crowd began pointing at the smiling black jolly roger on a yellow flag.

Heads turned to watch Law walk onto the bridge. He was given a wide berth from the moment his foot touched down.

"Almost killed Machinastein," someone muttered.

"Left those marines in bloody pieces."

"There should be limits to cruelty."

"Murderous fiend."

Penguin and Shachi snatched up a copy of the day's World Economy Newspaper from a newsstand, and she hurried to their side.

In the span of one terrible day, Sophie read over their shoulders, her expression souring, Surgeon of Death Trafalgar Law destroyed vital areas of the city of Machinastein, attacked marines who came to rescue President Ursa, and temporarily allied himself with Charlotte Sundae, a Big Mom pirate and daughter, who proceeded to take over Machinastein.

President Ixchel Ursa, who was once notorious for declaring her country would never pay the Heavenly Tribute, will now undoubtedly be forced to pay collateral to Big Mom.

With another victory for the Emperors of the New World, the Marines have announced their newest recruits will graduate early from the Academy and join increased patrols across the Grand Line. It's fair to assume other independent nations who believe they can survive without the backing of the World Government are reevaluating their decision.

Her stomach lurched violently, like she'd eaten spikes. It was a familiar feeling, but now one that she could put a name to.

Hatred.

"Lies, thinly-veiled threats, throwing unprepared kids into pirate territory," Law said in a bored voice. "How original."

Sophie stuffed her hands into her pockets to keep them from tearing the newspaper in half.

Bounty posters slipped out between the pages. Shachi and Penguin's jaws dropped.

"No way…"

"Captain…"

They turned together, staring. "You broke one hundred million!"

—

WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE

Surgeon of Death
TRAFALGAR LAW

150,000,000 beli

Captain and Doctor of the Heart Pirates.
Extremely dangerous.

—

"Not bad." Law's teeth flashed as he grinned.

"CAPTAAAAIIIN! SO COOL!"

"An outrageous number of zeroes," Sophie remarked, and felt an odd shiver the moment she said it out loud. An abstract sense of, this won't even be the half of it.

"Not done yet," Penguin said, and dropped two more bounty posters into their hands.

—

WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE

Alchemist
STRANGWAYS SOPHIE

51,000,000 beli

World Government traitor. Heart Pirate.
Specializes in chemistry, explosives, poisons.

—

WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE

BEPO

500 beli

Pet of the Heart Pirates.

—

Alchemy. Transmutation. The changing of things.

No, Sophie didn't mind her new epithet at all. Her face was covered entirely by her gas mask, the glass planes of the eyes reflecting the camera's flash. There was nothing about this photo that gave her away, except for the wild golden curls whipping past her ears. The gas mask made her look like someone who lived in a secluded hut, huffed lead paint for fun, and was the poster girl for mothers to warn their children about.

…Alright, yeah. Kinda sick.

Only her mask was notorious, not her actual face. And only a million beli increase? That was great. Solidly middle-of-the-ladder, absolutely no need for more attention. She could still walk around freely without worrying about being recognized.

"Pet…"

"I wish I could share with you, Bepo-san."

"Pet…"

"Or rewrite the description on your bounty. Marines aren't all that great when it comes to identifying minks. Take me, for example."

"Pet…"

"Is that all?" Shachi shook the newspaper, Penguin looking over his shoulder. "Where's the rest of it? Where's our bounties?"

—

Across the ocean in the Marine Headquarters, Commodore Brannew slammed his palm against a wall of bounty posters.

"Why are these three the only Heart Pirates listed?" he shouted, pointing at a bear, a sleep-deprived doctor, and a mask-wearing creep. "They have a crew of nearly a dozen men!"

"They were all wearing the same uniform and wore hats, sir!" stammered a saluting marine. "It was impossible to tell them apart in the rain, sir! We couldn't catch their names, either! We were only able to find the pet because of the orange suit he was wearing and the Alchemist because of her hair."

He shook the poster of the Alchemist's face, or lack thereof. "Does this photograph look remotely useful!?"

"Apologies, sir!"

Brandnew sighed and rubbed his shiny forehead. Another day, then.

—

"Bounty…"

"Pet…"

"Bounty…"

"Pet…"

"Bounty…"

"It'll come one of these days!" Manta called as he began to unload chests filled with gold and beli. "For now, get your asses here and help!"

Sophie adjusted a large, patched-up canvas bag over her shoulder. The pirates had lent it to her, along with a generous allowance. Joining a ship with no clothes or items of her own meant she was in desperate need of shopping.

Hopping eagerly on her feet, she waved at Law and pointed at the market.

With a short nod and a two-fingered salute exchanged, she scampered off to explore.

—

Treating her poor, neglected hair was the first priority. She found coconut oil and hibiscus shampoo from an Idyll Island merchant, and underwear, socks, and other essential necessities from the shops. After some consideration, a new lighter. Two new pistols and a knife. Soap and other cleaning ingredients that the Hearts sorely needed. Potassium nitrate from a Kano Country trader who called his wares 'the best salt from Kano's marshes'.

Sophie stopped at the first bookseller she saw, a nice stand with paper carp streamers attached to a weather vane rustling in the wind.

She rapped the counter. "Hello! I'm looking for books about the islands I'm heading to."

"Sure, sure," the trader said with an easy smile. "Where you heading?"

"St. Poplar, after this. Then to the Red Line."

A book dropped in front of Sophie with a thud. "History of the Sea Train Route." Thud. "Mysteries of the Florian Triangle: A Sailor's Log." Thud. "Guide to Sabaody Archipelago, Eighth Edition."

They all sounded promising. "Oh, one more thing," Sophie said, sliding the beli over. "Do you have any books on Ohara?"

His smile fell. She blinked.

"What are you asking me for?" the trader roared. "I don't sell that sorta thing! Who'd you hear that from? Doesn't matter, they were lying! Never been to West Blue in my life! And don't you go on saying I got anything from that island in my shop! I don't want trouble, you hear?"

He slammed his palm down, making Sophie jump.

"Wouldn't touch that with a ten-league pole, miss," called a merchant from the stall next door. "Any trader who does have relics from Ohara knows better than to say it. Or else, you know…" She stuck her tongue out and mimed cutting it off.

It was the same with every trader and bookseller Sophie met. Any mention of that island made them clam up and turn icy. After Machinastein, Ohara had dug into her mind and settled in there, eating into her curiosity. Another island the World Government said they had to wipe out for the greater good. There was a painfully limited amount of information about the incident, and who knew what was even true?

"Here's some info about Ohara for ya," one merchant said helpfully, when she asked.

"Really? Thank you so m—"

A crumpled paper ball bonked Sophie in the head and fell into her hand.

"…I think you've mistaken me for a recycling bin."

The gesticulation she received from the merchant was much more frank.

She decided not to find the nearest food stall vendor, grab a pot of boiling oil, and dump it over the rude mango. Out of the goodness of her saint-like heart, of course—also it would take too much effort and she was getting tired of all the dirty looks shot her way. So she simply walked along, inattentively smoothing the paper on a whim—and froze.

A bounty poster of a dark-haired, eight-year-old little girl. Her face was striking even in her youth, with dagger-like eyes and a sharp nose.

An absolute enemy of the World Government, who sank six Government warships thanks to her Devil Fruit. A ruthless weapon in the shape of a tiny child, all the newspaper declared.

Sophie's head pounded something fierce.

A bone-white ceiba tree. Marines and their warships. Centuries of ruin echoing in the present.

This little girl, hunted for twenty years, stared pitilessly back at her.

Instead of tossing it, she folded Nico Robin's bounty poster in even quarters and tucked it carefully in her bag, then sat down shakily on a wooden crate in an alcove and pressed her head into her knees for several long minutes, quiet.

—

"They weren't satisfied with their lot in life," Hippo once said, when she had asked. "They aimed for more. They wanted to learn, but they chose the wrong way. They tried to change the world."

Her soft, pudgy hands flipped through another book. All of ten, her fingernails still intact, the burns that turned her skin shiny and raw still accidents.

"Kill, sensei," Sophie reminded absently. "They tried to kill the world, and for some dumb, deluded dream. That's what we learned in class."

"That's… right." He knelt by her side, his eyes like iron. "Yes, that's right. And why were we forced to wipe out Ohara?"

"Because there's only one virtuous way to kill," she recited obediently, "and that belongs to the World Government."

—

She was heading back to the Polar Tang when she saw him on the bridge.

A difficult man to miss. Heads taller than everyone else.

A long black-and-gold captain's coat whirled around his ankles. A black hat perched atop thick, wiry black hair. Glass beads winked on his neck.

Son of a plum.

The enormous, black-haired pirate stopped in the middle of the bridge, catching her blue eyes with his almost foolishly round ones. The same wide grin with missing teeth, deeply tanned skin, and huge, hairy chest with pistols and a bottle of ale sticking out of his pants. But there was something different about him, compared to the laughing pillowsack of a human she met on Kunlun. Something slightly darker.

He squinted. "Eh? Where have I…"

Her mouth moved automatically. "Cherry Pie-san…?"

"…AH! The strange lass from Kunlun! Zehahahaha!" He easily pushed aside the crowd until he was clasping her shoulder, grinning. "Fancy meetin' you here! But don't call me Cherry Pie-san, ya hear?" He jerked a huge thumb at himself. "The name's Blackbeard!"

(You hear anything about Teach passing through these waters? He's calling himself Blackbeard now, stupidest fucking name if I've ever heard one…)

"Blackbeard…" Sophie muttered, and her ponytail stood on end like a cat's bristling tail. For pirate and marine alike, disloyalty meant a short walk off a plank. She smacked his hand aside, eyes ablaze. "Don't you m-mean Teach?"

Surprise flashed across his face, his hand lingering in the air.

"C-crewmate killer," she said.

The black coat shifted, whispering. Dark eyebrows rose up.

This was the second time Sophie would encounter Marshall D. Teach, though the rest of his name she wouldn't know yet.

Her head barely reached the middle of his stomach. "I," Sophie said, pointing up, "met Fire Fist Ace."

She couldn't begin to describe the emotions that shifted across the other pirate's face… until a smile stretched over his mouth, long and simpering.

"Now, lass, you ain't know the full story." His lashes fluttered. "Do I look like the disreputable sort to murder recklessly?"

"Yes," she huffed.

"Wha—hey, now, hold on!" he spluttered.

"First Fist is actively looking for you. How long do you think you can ru—"

Sophie shivered.

From his massive height, Teach slowly leaned down and peered at her, squinting one eye. "How close are you to Ace, hm?"

Perhaps there was strength in obliviousness, because she retorted without blinking, "We only met the one time. What's it to you?"

"Ahhhh. Well, well, well." Teach nodded solemnly. "I see what happened. He tricked ya with that damnable face of his!" He thumped his meaty chest with a large palm, looking disgruntled. "A real man doesn't need good looks, only the strength of his character!"

"What if he has both?"

"Don't interrupt me while I'm makin' a point!"

"Uhh Beardblack, sir," a vendor interrupted, "your pudding is ready!"

He grabbed it with an offended huff and the tapioca, grass jelly cubes, and fruit disappeared into his mouth with a nice long sluuuuurp.

Sophie peeked over Teach's elbow. Her stomach rumbled. "…Is it delicious?"

"…Aye, lass, mighty delicious."

—

"Thank you," she said reluctantly, swirling her spoon around the warm, Toa Sang Bay-style pudding, "for treating me, I… guess."

It was fine for killers to be nice to each other, right? It was a bit hypocritical of her to be angry at him for murdering someone, right?

…And if she didn't have any beli left, well, it was fine being treated, right?

"It's my repayment for you telling me my old commander is hot on my tail," Teach chortled, finishing the dessert off with an entire flask of ale. He belched in satisfaction. "See, I'm a much more generous man than I look!"

"You're a much worse man than you look, too."

Teach's grin widened, his eyes glistening like a night sky.

The wooden bridge creaked under her companion's feet. The cloying sunset was hot, the perfume of savory, greasy food blooming from trails of smoke along the houseboats, and Sophie sweated lightly underneath her thin cotton shirt.

"Can I lay out how bad this is for you?" she continued, chewing on bits of longan and lychee. "Being chased by Ace-san, of all people? I feel like you don't quite understand."

"Oh?"

"Here's what you do. You escape to East Blue. Peaceful sea, right? All things considered. You find a nice island. You grow a pineapple grove. Settle down. Live a quiet life. If you've avoided him for so long, you can still get away!"

"Sure as the sun sets in the west, it's too late," Teach said, grinning up at the sky. "I've seen things you couldn't dream of, lass. A castle under the sea. Armada fleets, glittering in the rain. The edge of the world. Once you've tasted that, there's no going back."

A bit of lychee dribbled out of Sophie's mouth as she stared.

Something lifted in her chest, an urge to sink her teeth into his words and taste for herself. She knew exactly what he…

The breeze was strong, sweeping her curls across her forehead. She combed her hair back, glancing around the marking and trying to come up with a retort, when her eye caught on something.

They were walking by another bookseller. Chance! Sophie leaned over the counter, smiling toothily, twirling a loose strand of yellow around her finger. "Any books on Ohara, miss?"

The cute merchant raised her fly swatter. "Please keep moving along."

Turned down in an instant…

Teach seemed terribly amused by her lack of charm, snickering, "Only fools shout Ohara in a crowded place."

She stuck her tongue out. "Yeah, but at least we got spunk."

"Zehahahaha! You'll get 'em next time, ducky." He strode forward with a flick of his coat, not caring to see if she'd follow.

Sophie tipped her head back and watched the flight of kingfishers over the market. If she closed her eyes, the busyness of Toa Sang Bay could've almost been the golden streets of Machinastein, desert palms and garden rooftops. Could've almost been the candlelit Tournesol on Cat's Eye Island, filled with young insurgents with nothing but ideas of liberty in their heads. Almost, but not quite.

"The truth is meant to be learned and shared," she said idly. "Is the Oharan Incident not a learning experience? Why do people do what they do? How can we prevent it from happening again? History affects all of us—all the islands, all the world. No matter who becomes Pirate King at the end of the day, aren't there greater things we should be yearning to discover? Things that should change how ignorant children are taught to see the world?"

She looked at Teach and almost jumped. The huge, hairy pirate was a lot closer than she thought. A lot closer.

Sophie leaned back, disconcerted.

"What," he glanced around her face, like he was inspecting her curly hair and blue eyes and bronze skin, "is your blood?"

"…X neg," she said dumbly.

"Your island, daft lass. Your people."

Her throat closed up. World Government child. Destroyer of civilizations.

"I'm from the ocean," was the first thing she uttered, because it was the truest lie she could think of.

"We're the same, then," Teach said, his dark eyes shining. "Even orphans like us might find their history in the history of the world."

Oh, she thought, startled, maybe that's why—

Her face scrunched up, oddly conflicted with this enormous, soft-bellied pirate with the stupid laugh.

"Did you have a good reason?" Sophie burst out recklessly. "For killing your crewmate and running away?"

"I," he gave a relishing lick of his lips, "had the most delectable reason."

He didn't regret it, Sophie observed, and for a split-second—at least that's something I might be able to respect. "If you believe that so much, then you need to make contingency plans! You need to think! What if Ace-san finds you right now? What would you do? What if—"

Her crewmate-killing companion threw back his head, shaking with deep laughter.

"Ah, lass," he chuckled, "I bet you spent half your life imaginin' all the ways living could go wrong."

Sophie stopped, grey eyes with hints of gold flashing through her mind.

She took a breath. Stop that, you pineapple. "We're still talking about how you're running from an Emperor, right? Someone with sixteen divisions? Each with a commander and full crews?"

"You don't have to remind me! But I already have a fine idea about who I'd recruit!"

"Eustass Kid is huge in the papers now," she mentioned, remembering the bounty posters slapped around the market.

"No damn rookies. They gotta be the biggest, baddest pirates in town! The finest scoundrels of the seas!"

"Then you're wasting your time."

Teach scowled. "How's that now?"

"Infamous pirates? Notorious for their villainy and years of terror?" Sophie planted her hands on her hips, voice sharp and brassy. "The World Government already caught them all. They're rotting in Impel Down."

Her response was a short chuckle, almost restrained.

"I'm not saying you have any chance of breaking into the most protected prison in the world, but if you did—hypothetically, if you did—there are all sorts of mass murderers and detestable criminals in there. You could take your pick of them. There's even a level strictly for the criminals who've become major, impossible to ignore threats to the World Government. …Is that common knowledge out here? Well, whatever, it's not like it's actually possible."

A peculiar expression melted across his face. "You're sayin' some mighty interesting things."

"To even get into Impel Down, you'd have to work for the World Government. And you're a pirate."

"That I am, lass."

"The only pirates who work for the World Government are Warlords. And there's always seven of them, exactly." She paused. "Ah, but…"

"But," he repeated, humming.

"There's… six now. After Straw Hat Luffy took down Sir Crocodile, a spot opened."

Teach bit into his pie, smiling.

"Say you do become a Warlord," Sophie said, tapping her chin as she strategized, "and say you make it into Impel Down. Then you'd run into another problem. There are thousands of prisoners who you'd have to sort through." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, but you know what you could do? If you were really mean about it? You could…"

He waited, eyes rounder than ever.

She hesitated. "No, I can't say it…"

"Come now!"

"No, no, it's really too much…"

"Can dear old Teach treat you to somethin' else?" he offered in a saccharine tone. "Somethin' sweet for a sweet lass?"

"If you really wanted to find the worst of the worst…" she rubbed her toe in the ground, cheeks pink with embarrassment, "you c-could… tell them to fight, and let the ones standing join your crew. Kill p-probably a hundred birds with one stone. And that's how you might, m-might stand a chance against Ace-san and Whitebeard."

He stared at her.

Then burst out laughing. Sophie followed suit nervously.

"Knock off me britches and clean my clock!" he roared, wiping his eyes. "Absolutely appalling!"

"It's so awful, right?" she laughed, her nervousness washing away into genuine hilarity. "What am I thinking? That's such a horrible suggestion!"

"Most excellently vile." Teach beamed at her with his gap-toothed smile.

"Well, at least you're thinking of recruiting," she acknowledged. "You definitely need a crew. Unless you're actually planning to fight Whitebeard alone?"

"Alone?" he chuckled. "When did I ever say that?"

A low whinny came up behind her.

A pale, sickly-looking horse clopped up to Sophie. Its rider stretched out a trembling hand. "Apple, dear?"

She took one whiff of it. Her gaze flicked from the apple basket filled with shining, scrumptious red fruit, to the long-faced man with a deathly pallor.

"Thanks!" She plucked one out and rolled it around a bit. "But on second thought, you should have it."

"Ah?"

"You look hungry." She flipped the apple in the air and caught it. "And terminally diseased."

"No, no, it's a gift," he wheezed, coughing out a light spray of blood.

One, she thought, and eyed the rest of the crowd. Where were the rest?

"Teach! Want a bite?" Sophie tossed it over. "Catch."

"Huh!? Wait, wait, wait—"

In midair, the apple was simultaneously whacked away by a cane and shot through by a bullet, landing in the ocean.

A flash of light, and the explosion sent waves rocking against the bridge. Shouts cascaded down the bridge. A lithe figure landed with a light tap-tap of his feet, holding his crimson cane at his side.

The smiling man tipped his hat in front of his face, blocking the spray of ocean water. Droplets splashed across Sophie's skin, dancing down her cheek.

Sulfur had little nutritional value. It also smelled like rotten eggs.

"ZEHAHAHA! You've been found out, doc! A clever lass, she is!" Teach roared, clutching his stomach.

"Lucky to live?" coughed the sick man. "Or unlucky to be alive?"

"Your breath stinks," Sophie politely informed, unflinching.

The pale man spun his cane, burgundy lips pulled into a mocking smile.

"Not her, Lafitte," Teach said, looking at Sophie with odd, renewed interest. "She's a funny one."

He set the cane down, balancing it in both hands as he kept smiling. Creepy. Though, Sophie knew creepier.

Her feet lifted from the ground. Wah! She yelped in alarm, kicking her legs, coming face to face with a hugely tall marksman who had stuck his blunderbuss-type rifle beneath her bag strap and raised her up with it.

Behind his glasses and odd-looking monocle, his eyes were hard as flint. "Just a rookie. Nothing special."

Ignoring him, Sophie latched onto that spectacular rifle and rubbed her grubby fingers all over it. Shiny. "W-w-what's the caliber on this thing?"

His eyebrow lifted. "…Inch and three quarters."

"Custom-made scopes?" she gasped enviously, and scowled into the marksman's face. "It's too cool for a smarmy banana like you."

"Brat." He shook her off roughly like a bug. Her boots clunked back down onto the bridge, almost falling over.

"She met my dear former commander, Van Auger!" Teach crowed. "The old man sent him! Ain't that somethin'? Addled geezer sendin' the youngest of his brats after little old me?"

"Then this is also a meeting of destiny," the smiling one, Lafitte, said, tipping his hat at her.

A shadow fell over Sophie. She scrambled back; an enormous man in a wrestling mask passed her, a golden champion's belt on his waist. "Captain Teach! All the supplies have been gathered on the raft! Let's sail!"

Her jaw dropped. "You've been running from the Whitebeard Pirates," she said in complete, sheer disbelief, "on a raft?"

"Aye, and we'll rattle the world!" Teach thundered, fists raised. "Just you watch!"

"Yes, yes, you'll rattle and make a mess of things, ruin islands, burn seas." Sophie flapped her hands. "But someone always has to clean it up, and life will keep going on after you're dead, and in a thousand years will anyone even remember you?"

"Then," the marksman intoned, "we'll simply burn the sea until there's nothing left."

"One thousand years under the heavens," the doctor coughed, "is but a blink of an eye."

"I'll challenge them all! Wiiihahaha!" the wrestler bellowed. "Next stop, Banaro Island!"

"Pineapples, that's not what I meant." Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Though, I guess your commitment to devastation is—"

A whisper against her cheek. She barely turned, and found empty eyes and an emptier smile.

Lafitte's red lips pressed against her ear. "This, too, is fate."

What—

She slapped him aside, but her hand met air.

He tapped back to his crew, the Blackbeard Pirates rumbling with deep laughter. Banaro Island, Sophie thought, furiously scrubbing her ear and already making plans to find Fire Fist Ace and chuck him in their direction. I'll remember that.

"If the winds are fair, ducky, let's meet again!" Teach shouted, his grin enormous.

The five pirates were about to board a raft of all things as they spoke about upending the world. Sophie was certain that the next time she'd see them would be on the front of a newspaper, having been executed by the Whitebeard Pirates for their crimes.

"Ha," she sneered. "I'll pour one out for you when Ace-san chars you to death."

Laughing, he fanned himself with his hat, and for a moment the crashing waves beneath the bridge seemed to still. "Tell that boy made of flames to come light up the darkness…"

Teach's wide grin was outlined by the fading sun, the beginning of night.

"…if he can."

—

The unsettled, heavy feeling churned in Sophie's gut as she walked through the market. She tapped out a cigarette and used her new lighter to light it.

She was passing through the pier when she saw the lanky visage of her captain over the crowd. He was facing away from her, looking at the shops, his posture relaxed—almost slouching, like the twenty-four-year-old that he was. She forgot that, sometimes. How young he could appear in odd moments.

She found herself quickly walking forward.

"Machinastein vanilla beans!" a trader called, his green skirt reminding Sophie of aloe vera plants and hot sacbe roads. "Two hundred beli a pound, best vanilla you'll ever taste! Quetzal eggs, three hundred a box! Commemorative coins! New Machinastein coins to celebrate the alliance with Big Mom!"

She's never seen anyone whip out beli so fast.

"Commemorative… coins?" Sophie inquired.

Law barely glanced at her as he inspected the large bronze coin, stamped with a Big Mom jolly roger on one side and an image of towering temples on the other. "Everyone has hobbies."

"Surgeon of Death," the trader said, blinking at him. "Awful what the newspapers are saying. You saved my house from being destroyed."

"Don't worry about it," Law replied easily. "I'm sure I didn't mean to."

A burst of laughter. "Oh." Sophie covered her mouth. "Sorry, that was just really funny."

The trader shot her an odd look, then shook his head and flipped the coin over to Law. "Take it, pirate. I won't accept your money. Go on."

Law grinned appreciatively, nodding his thanks.

"So?" he said as they made their way through the bridge. "Have you burned through all my money yet?"

"I've invested excellently in my future," she said seriously, giving him a thumbs-up. "Though… there was something weird that happened…"

Dusk settled over the floating market as Sophie recounted meeting Blackbeard and his weird crew, though leaving out all that bizarre talk about fate and destiny. Lanterns across the market were lit, vibrantly red against the blue evening.

"Whitebeard family politics," Law muttered, looking disinterested. "Well. Be more careful."

She rubbed her ear again. "I'm always careful."

His look could've withered flowers.

"I always try to be careful," Sophie articulated. I'm not like you.

"Unlike me?"

"Woah. Psychic!?" He flicked her on the nose. "Ouch." It didn't actually hurt and before she knew it, the heaviness in her stomach vanished.

Someone passing by bumped her arm. Sophie stumbled a bit more out of surprise, her bag knocking against her hip—and looked down at the tattooed hand on her shoulder.

"You'll get lost," Law told her. "You're short."

She gasped in outrage. "You take that back, punk! I'm above average height for a human lady!"

"Sure." He looked down at her. "I still get to say you're short."

"You're infuriating and vile and wicked and—"

"Stop, I'm blushing."

Unspeakably delighted, Sophie slapped him away and made clear, "That's disgusting. I'm disgusted. You're infringing upon my delicate sensibilities, you know?"

"What part of you is delicate again?"

"I'll push you off the bridge."

"That's mutiny."

"I'll save you, too, so you'll fear and respect me."

That made him chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling. In the blue dusk, Law was half a shadow, broad shoulders, black hair cut unevenly, earrings clinking gently in the breeze.

I feel this way, Sophie reflected, because I don't have any experience.

Her whole, sheltered life was staring her in the face. She hadn't lived enough yet. She hadn't done enough. Even after all of it—killing an ex-World Noble, falling from the sky, setting a Marine fortress on fire, Red Sky—this was something she didn't understand at all.

What would anyone even like about me, anyway?

There it was. Sure, they had bonded over being Science Adventure Buddies, but… she was awkward and weird, twitchy and stuttery, and her brain ran too fast all the time, and she was too cunning and too nervous and took up too much space and not enough. She was too much of everything; scars and hair and emotion. She was just… strange. A little bit unlovable, in the way all strange girls were.

Sophie didn't understand why anyone would look at her and think, ah, yes, ideal.

Most of all, she didn't understand why she was thinking about something as stupid and pointless as this in the first place! Stop thinking about it, brain cells! I forbid you from thinking about it ever again!

…And I wouldn't even know how to do anything.

Wow. She was one more badly repressed thought from throwing herself off the bridge with an anchor tied to her feet.

The Hearts were across the bridge, eating on small chairs in front of a vermicelli noodle shop and drinking rice liquor, the air smelling wonderfully of fish sauce.

"'Ey, you guys made it!" Valross waved at them, mouth full of egg roll. "We sold off or traded all the gold! Let's celebrate!"

Sophie quickly dashed over and crammed herself between Anko and Hai Xing, who grabbed their bowls to keep them from splashing over. Law took a seat beside Bepo, waving at the noodle maker and shouting for two more bowls.

In the slow, languid wind, her crew laughed and clanked glasses, glowing in the bright lantern lights, the cool roll of the waves beneath their feet. It surely must've been the heat from the boiling pots and the steaming noodle bowls, because her chest felt as hot as ever.

—

"Shit! That was a good throw. But also, fuck, ow."

Sophie leaned against the training room door, watching Penguin help Shachi up from the mat. They had left Toa Sang Bay right after dinner, and were now back on the ocean. She'd been walking to the sickbay, tired from the day's adventure and ready to collapse in a bed, when she heard the voices.

She set her hefty bag down. "Can you show me how to do that? The hip throw?"

They looked up and grinned.

Penguin brushed off his hands. "Sure."

"It looks useful in close-quarters." Sophie removed her boots and stepping onto the mat. She tightened the boiler suit sleeves around her waist. The fact that she barely escaped not one but two fights against Teresa and the bookkeeper by relying solely on her smarts was not lost on her. She needed to resume training.

Penguin beckoned her closer. "If you were Shachi's height, I'd say hold the back of head. But since you're a little shorter, you're gonna hold my stomach—yeah, like that—"

"And don't worry about getting hurt," Shachi said with an amicable grin. "Cap can fix us up."

Not very reassuring, considering Law had the power to reattach limbs. She'd rather her limbs stay firmly in place.

"Grab my other arm here," Penguin directed and Sophie did, "step inward, spin your body, bend down, lift me on your hip—"

"HAAAA!" Sophie roared, lifting the man several inches taller than her and many pounds heavier right off his feet.

"Holy shit," Penguin gasped—

"Careful with your feet," Anko said gruffly, watching from the door. "Or you're gonna—"

Her foot slipped.

They collapsed in a limbless pile with a loud, "Oof!"

"Think you can teach better?" Shachi called cheerfully, lacing his hands behind his head.

Anko passed a flat glare at him, kicking off his boots and striding on the mat. "Stand up, Sophie."

"Keep your center of gravity low," Penguin said.

"When you grab his arm, hold it with your armpit—"

"Make sure to lock it so I can't get free—"

"And widen your stance," Hai Xing said.

"HAI XING!?"

"I've been standing in the corner for the past five minutes. Ah, could it be? A ghost clinging to your shoulder has clouded your vision…"

"Spooky!" Shachi shrieked, hiding behind Sophie's shoulders. She flexed her biceps at the invisible ghost, daring it to try.

"Okay, you ding-dongs." Penguin pointed at Sophie. "The four of us are going to run at you one at a time, and you're going to hip throw all of us."

"Huh!? No, no, no, wait—"

—

Half an hour later, Sophie was lying on the floor and inhaling as much air as she could. Shachi had opened the porthole to let in fresh air, and she was grateful for the breeze.

"You," Penguin said, breathing harshly, "fight like a marine."

"Not just any marine," Shachi added. "Marines who've fought a lot by pirates. It's not like they're physically stronger than normal, but they're way more aggressive. Their style of self-defense is really obvious."

"Attacking only vulnerable points," Hai Xing noted, the shortest out of all of them and the only one looking perfectly put-together, "putting distance between you and your opponent, focusing on getting out alive."

"The style changes a bit depending on which base you're at. Bases that don't see a lot of war don't fight like I do." Like there were no rules and every battle was life-or-death. Which it was.

"Yours did?" Shachi asked. "G-13?"

"Too much," she replied tiredly.

"You got the muscle for fighting," Anko said, leaning back on his palms. "Now's just a matter of muscle memory." He burped. "Oh, fuck, dinner's coming up."

"Yeah, right?" Penguin laughed, wiping the sweat from his face. Shachi pressed his hand against Anko's head and pushed lightly, like a pup roughhousing with his brother.

"All that half-fishman strength and you still ain't a great fighter, Hai Xing," Shachi said over his shoulder.

"I know." He was aimlessly spinning a wooden practice staff around his hands.

"But you could be, if you tried," Penguin remarked. "The best out of all of us, even."

"I'd rather be a decent thief." The staff stopped abruptly. "And a great cook."

The other four Hearts grinned at him. To have all that strength and yet be decisive enough to say to mangoes with it and do what he wanted… that was just plain rad.

"You've definitely put in a lot of work to hone your body," Anko said, investigating her strong shoulders. Then he leered. "You know what else could help with that honing?"

"So anyway," Sophie said, after pummeling Anko with her boots.

"I WAS GOING TO SAY WEIGHTLIFTING."

"Oh. Yeah, that's a pretty good idea! I should start up again," she agreed, and tipped her head at the muttering man. He had always seemed particularly confident in his fighting skills, and he clearly was good at it. "Anko, how'd you get to be the helmsman?"

He flinched.

"…If it was really up to me, I would've been a fighter. Ya know, someone whose only job is to defend the ship and drink rum. But then Cap was all 'we need a helmsman yada yada yada' and…" He scowled fiercely. "But it ain't like I didn't have experience, okay? I had my own boat before joining. And I learned sailing the hard way in the Grand Line, not from some fancy book or whatever."

"Where's your ocean?"

His hand went up to his sand dollar necklace. "South Blue."

"And you sailed into the Grand Line on your own?"

He shrugged. "Reverse Mountain was smaller than I thought it'd be."

"That's amazing," Sophie said, her eyes wide. Anko shot her a surprised look. She tapped her fingertips together in crafty apprehension. "I b-bet those three also agree."

He whipped his head in their direction, glaring with suspicion.

"'Course we do," Penguin said roughly.

"We always did, man," Shachi voiced.

"And Hai Xing-san."

"If I ever said otherwise," Hai Xing said, "I was wrong."

An ineffable expression flitted over Anko's face. He smiled. "Damn fucking straight! I'm cool as shit, and don't you bastards forget it! Motherfuckers! Shitbags!" Anko threw his head back and laughed, "WAHAHAHA!"

As he continued to cackle like an idiot in the background, Penguin said, "Next time, we should have Bepo in here. Screw that five hundred bounty, the bear can fight."

Sophie grinned as they all stood up. "You guys aren't bad teachers."

"You did good, too." Penguin ruffled her hair.

"Hm? Wha?"

"Yeah, nice job, Sophie-chan." Shachi elbowed her.

"Hm? Ah? Eh?"

Anko stood next to her, his face neutral. She blinked at him. He smacked her hard in the back, between her shoulders.

"Ow!"

"Ah, the Anko smack of approval," Penguin said.

Shachi rubbed his butt. "I remember it being lower."

"I have to prep breakfast," Hai Xing said. "It could be possible there might be Toa Sang pudding in the fridge tomorrow."

Sophie looked up from putting Anko into a headlock, her mouth watering.

"Oh, and don't go to the sickbay tonight," Shachi called after her as they left the training room and went separate directions. "Cap says you're free to sleep elsewhere. Maybe like an old broom closet."

Bemused, she found her way back to the broom closet. Despite whatever Shachi had done to it, the wooden door looked the same as ever.

She opened it.

Immediately after she did, footsteps sprinted through the submarine, an engine room door burst open, and she leaped onto the redhead mechanic, wrapping her arms around his neck to the point of choking. "Shachi-sama!"

—

"Told you they'd be okay," Bepo said, beaming. Their crewmates' voices below floated up to the deck, rowdy and loud and laughing.

Law adjusted his hat. "Yeah, yeah."

—

The cloth hammock mimicked the swaying of ocean waves, and that was a lovely thing to wake up to, even in the very early morning.

She could tell it was morning because of the new porthole that Shachi had built. He also installed new lamps in the walls; small, glass bauble-like things that she could flick on and off with a switch. A trunk beneath the hammock stored her clothes, and the jar filled with bioluminescent Crawfish mushrooms was still hanging from the ceiling. Sophie got a pretty good clue who was taking care of it when Manta slipped her a book on horticulture with a wink. She arranged her new books on the desk, and flattened out Nico Robin's bounty poster and set that in a drawer.

It felt really like a room now. Her room. Small and admittedly cramped, but there was space enough and it was all hers.

Sometime in the night, the submarine had risen up from beneath the sea.

Standing high up on the control room deck, Sophie set her knife back in its leather sheath and raised her new lighter. A smiling jolly roger carved on the metal, with six lines extending out of it that made it look like a gear, or a virus.

Peach-colored clouds spread across the sky. She blew a river of smoke up at them.

She rubbed her shoulders, still sore from last night's impromptu sparring match. It also made something crystal-clear: when it came down it, she was weaker than she'd like. Made of fragile bones and soft organs. She used to be proud of the fact that she had the same strength of an average marine, but now… I'm only average. Terribly average.

She couldn't fight with such clean technique as the others, but…

Haki was the great equalizer. If she had Haki, she could handle her own even against Devil Fruit users. Maybe, just maybe…

Sophie took her cigarette out from her mouth, examining the burning end. All it needed was pain, right? She had lived through enough pain for a lifetime—several lifetimes, considering all her near-death experiences. If she had survived for so long, maybe there was a reason for it that wasn't just smarts or serendipity.

She kissed the tip of the cigarette against the skin of her palm.

"Come on," Sophie whispered. Do it, you ugly things. I'm a Tenryuubito Slayer. I killed a Dragon. I should have Haki, too.

Her skin began to smoke. Her eyes teared up.

Help me, she willed. I have to fight better, harder. I have to. I WILL—

Her mouth tasted abhorrent, like hate.

You muffinfudger!

It remained the same disfigured hand, attached to the same scarred wrist, now smelling like burnt flesh.

She hurled the cigarette into the ocean, her fists coming down with a violent slam on the railing.

(A quiet creak—)

Her hands throbbed. She didn't lift them yet, letting the anger cool, breathing hard.

Maybe if she, too, was secretly descended from some sort of special bloodline… maybe if her birth family was special… maybe if the island they had come from—Sophie's original island, because she had to have one—was a Special Island, filled with Special People with wild curls and blue eyes just like her…

…As though that would ever happen.

The great, neutral logic of universe told her there were just some things people like her could never achieve. No matter how much she wanted it.

Her mouth twitched. Yeah, okay.

She laughed into the wind—a small, light thing, then louder until it was bright and ringing. Bring it on.

Everything she didn't know, everything she didn't understand, everything she wasn't capable of yet—well, that was just another experimentfor her, wasn't it?

"I'll f-figure out your secrets!" Sophie shouted up at the half-moon in the sky, luminous and unfathomable. "Do your best a-against this insignificant, island-less orphan, universe!"

A flock of gulls passed by, cawing at her and clacking their beaks like they were amused.

The submarine began to slowly shift direction, following the southern stars.

Her attention catching on their new course, Sophie moved along the deck. She didn't notice the small, knuckle-shaped dents her hands had left behind in the metal.

"Yeah, universe, fuck off," Anko yawned from inside the control room, rubbing his eyes. "We're making a quick detour."

"We're reaching an uninhabited island," came Law's metallic voice from the speaking tube, because of course he was also up this early. "I'm taking a day here to train."

Tired of his butt getting handed to him by middle-aged or older women, no doubt.

The island came in closer view. A winter island in the middle of a gentle spring, covered in great pines, fresh meltwater coming in to supply the rivers. The weather changed, the cool breeze turning into a high, cold wind that made her toes curl.

Somewhere out there was a former marine stepping into a camp of the Revolutionary Army. Somewhere out there was a flying automaton in the shape of a cat and a lost princess. Hippo-sensei, are you doing well? Nellie-san, Lisbeth? I'm still here. Breathing. Living.

Let's meet again.

—

Far away on Sabaody Archipelago's Grove One, the daily human auction was beginning.

The owner of the Human Auction House sauntered out of his office, inspecting the line-up of today's goods. He adjusted his tall yellow hat and star-shaped glasses. It was an important day. Two agents from a certain family were sent to check up on the house, and he couldn't afford any missteps.

They were waiting in the dimly lit corridor and listening to the distant roar of the crowd. The wolves were out in full-force today. Some were crying, some shivered, others were dead-eyed and resigned. So long as the herd was quiet and minded their place, Disco was happy.

Whispers erupted in the back of the line.

"You dare treat me this way—"

"It's the crazy one again."

"I am a princess—"

"Lady, please, just shut up or you'll get us all killed."

Disco whirled around and glared. They quieted down.

He glanced at the young woman in the back, her eyes caked with kohl, stuffed in some dancer silks that might've been someone else's that died before they had the chance to make it on the stage. Her red hair was cut tight to her ears and that was a shame; but she had come to him that way, a month's long sail on a slaver ship.

"Alright, boys!" Disco crowed. "Let's give 'em a show!"

The stage lights were blinding. He grabbed the chains of the slave-to-be, dragging her to the front of the line—past it—and up onto the stage.

"A beautiful dancer from the exotic desert of Alabasta!" he yelled into the mic, as the thrilled audience applauded. "Barely sixteen, young and nubile!"

They said she was twenty-two when they brought her in, but what did he care?

"A fresh, unplucked flower!" Disco hollered, and the crowd wet their lips, searching for an ounce of weakness, for a tear, even a wish for death. "Let's start the bid at one million! Do we have one million! Yes, from the gentleman in the back! Two million! Three mil—"

"I am a princess of the blood!"

Her yell resounded across the entire auction house, sweeping over the two shadows standing at the back. They glanced at each other, then back at the wide screen that was also being broadcasted to all areas of the underworld, including a particular palace of a particular island in the New World.

"I am a dynast, descended from my mother of the royal line of Cat's Eye Island, I am the rightful heir to the Sunflower Throne—"

The faceless crowd started booing.

"I will kill all you worms, I swear on the ashes of my mother!" the woman standing displayed on the stage, cuffed in chains, shouted. Her callused hands refused to plead, and instead itched to grip bows and arrows. "I will not rest until your putrescence is washed into the soil! Pathetic worms who grovel at the feet of slavers! Filth! Scum!"

The lights dimmed and the curtains fell in a quick swoop.

Disco grabbed her by the chains. "Are you crazy, wench!? There were Dragons in the audience today, too! Do you even know what a Dragon is, you shit-for-brains little—"

"I curse you to rot."

For a heartbeat, staring into her eyes, he nearly hesitated. The moment passed, and he raised a hand to strike—

"She's spoken for, Disco. Take that collar off."

A woman emerged from the backstage with a click of her heels. She was dressed like a maid, a cigarette dangling from her lips. Her companion was a man with a windmill-shaped hairstyle and a furry coat.

Disco's teeth gritted, and he adopted a sweet tone. "Ah, but—but, see, this slave needs to be disciplined—"

The maid flicked her cigarette at his feet. "Orders from the big man."

He went pale. Fumbling for the keys, he immediately unlocked her collar and handcuffs with shaking fingers.

The one in the furry coat was grinning. Painted black on his teeth was a jolly roger with its smile crossed out. "Our boss wants to talk to you, princess."

Her eyes were wide. Breathing heavily, she pointed at the people-seller. "…This means I am free from him?"

"Yep."

Lisbeth nodded.

Then she threw her arm back and socked Disco right on the nose.

to be continued

trivia

echoes from waters deep: lots of things mentioned in this chapter that's going to have a ripple effect. haki, ohara, teach, and lisbeth.
toa sang bay: tỏa sáng means shine in vietnamese, referencing the glitter of the water around the ocean market. the setting is based off of ha long bay in vietnam.
toa sang-style pudding: it's gotta be chè, of course!