Back, finally: yes, it's updated, the story is not dead forever. The longest chapter yet, I thought it'd only be fair since I hadn't updated in months, sorry about that! College has made me a lot busier.

*12/19/12:

Chapter 10 has been edited.

~Swaben

Chapter 10:

Nothing

One could mistake Kuro for an automation with the way he coolly eyed the situation in front of him, and he knew very well how much it was petrifying the daylights out of the young bandits. Light blanketed him like an expanding puddle as he stepped into the brightness of the alley. The boy's shivering gaze stuck to him as he moved like a ghost emerging from shadow.

"He's the one. He's the one who did it," the young bandit whispered to his accomplice. His voice raised along with his chin. "It was you, dandy. I knew it."

Kuro stared at them both. The sheen from his glasses obscured his eyes in a white flash, and the lenses were cold, hard, and inhuman. He pressed his palm up against them for a moment.

"I've never seen your face before..." the girl roughly adjusted her hat and rolled her shoulders back in confrontation. "'Got any business here?" Her small blade spun like an angry sawmill wheel and it danced tactfully around her fingers.

"All of the business in the world, miss."

The ragamuffin slicked her tongue over her chapped lips and contorted her mouth into a tight pucker. A clear, viscous glob of spit landed near his shoes in reply.

"'Ain't got no business here unless I say so. You best get out of here before I mug the shit out of you, too." The aggressive sweep of her foot created a dusty half-circle that faded in contact with the breeze. Her knife continued to spin in its own frantic dance around her hand in an ostentatious show of skill. "Your money is the least you owe me for what you just did. A guy like you won't scare me."

The boy was still huddled against the wall, cradling his limp, tender hand. He tightly sucked in his lips to seal away the pain.

"I'd advise you to be smart and just give up on this little game before you get yourself and that boy of yours hurt," Kuro chewed on his own superiority complex, and collectedly rested his hands to his sides.

"You're disgusting. Who do you think you are?" Suddenly and ferociously, the young woman lunged like a terse spring, knife open in hand. "Your ass is mine!"

The whir of the knife flew past Kuro's tart, sardonic face and stirred a strand of his hair.

"Aren't I a little old for you?"

"Pig!," she shouted incredulously, flying into a repulsed tantrum. She made a rapid side swipe for his chest. The slash was absorbed by empty space, and she teetered on one foot, stupefied. Her body gave a twist as he stretched the hood from her large jacket over her head. He yanked its strings and its green fabric tightly cinched to cocoon her face. The product was a bizarre looking creature that muffled and grunted, whirling like a deranged circus animal.

"Uwuh! 'Ye fugger!" the bandit warbled, tasting cotton. Her knife flailed frantically while she blindly searched for his body, and panicked until she loosened the hood.

"It's obvious that you're in no condition to be a challenge. This is truly a waste of my time and energy. Don't make this necessary for me, for your sake and mine," Kuro goaded with a numb visage. "I was anticipating a quiet lunch free of irritations."

Kuro's fierce whipping kick was evaded in a surprising show of reflex. The bandit girl leapt with her knees drawn up so close that they nearly smacked into her chest. Her grimy, naked fingertips curled as her gloved hand formed into a fist, the others firm around the hilt of her knife. Her sucker punch was neutralized as his leg returned to send her thudding against stone.

She cried out and blood lightly dribbled from the corner of her mouth, dangling like the juice of a cherry. She spat and wiped its remainders off of her lip as she lay on the ground, then shaking as she rose.

"Think of your boy. Give up. It would be sorely against me to kill minors," Kuro said carefully as the former bounty hunter's wise blue eyes were upon him. "I have my standards. If you continue to be this naïve about winning, I might exceed them."

"You're full of shit," the bandit huffed. "No way am I… Giving into a… Goddamned bluffer." She slid a few fingers across her lip and rubbed them on her jacket.

A familiar grind and screech sounded at the mouth of the alley after the boy clumsily made a run for it. Kuro averted his eyes to the angular silhouette of the inventor's vehicle, and saw the blurred image of her leaning out of its driver's seat. Nelle stressed its engine, and the onslaught tremulous growls and screaks was distracting. The boy shouted a high-pitched squeal and scrambled against the wall, while bandit girl focused on the vehicle with a drooped, frowning mouth, as if she were utterly confused.

"This feels like twine," Kuro mouthed to a mostly immobile Sals.

"Take your time," the older man replied audaciously. He didn't seem very concerned about his situation.

As Kuro's hands were busying themselves at quickly trying to sever the ties and loosen the knots, his attention became diverted back as he heard the cool sound of metal piercing air. His reflexes prevented him from being cut as the girl tried jab him with an agile hand. Over and over, it was cutting air and mincing absolutely nothing. Every time that she would slash at an opening, her blow would be caught swiftly. Block after block and twist after turn, she was being backed into a corner quicker than she had ever experienced. As Kuro's shadow shrouded her, her nervousness leaked through her quivering mouth.

"I, I dunno what you're here for, man, but we weren't gonna kill him, I promise."

"That doesn't matter a wink to me," Kuro clarified as he patronized her with a raised index finger. "The point I want you to understand is that you're not going to succeed, because that man is of severe importance to me."

"What do you want me to do, drop my knife? Is that what you want? Okay. Okay…" she feigned submission, nodding slowly to him and gingerly placing the knife on the ground. He took one insignificant step back, and encountered her kneecap speeding for his nether regions. He caught it and squeezed. The bone of his thumb pressed hard into its pressure point.

"You're trying my patience."

The bandit writhed violently at the pressure and her shoe crunched onto his toe. His teeth grated at the sudden pressure and she wriggled free. In his moment of distraction, she rushed at him, yelling, blade overhead. Her desperate, rage-filled howl permeated the air and it was matched with the swift noise of speed. She winced at him in shock. His hand engulfed her wrist, and he countered her dispassionately. In a second or two, the boy's accomplice fell unconscious.

It was a painfully easy fight for Kuro. It was almost grating at how unskilled they were to not even land a single hit on him, besides the low-brow tactic of stepping on one of his toes, which he found to be hardly notable. Here he was, looking like an average civilian, suddenly whirling and zipping and disorienting their wits into outer space. It surprised him to return to common reality: a reality where most people were weak, nearly harmless, and not concerned with nautical squabbles and raids and other things that pirate captains must worry about each day. He made the adjustment years back at Kaya's mansion, and he felt as if this were a repetition. But, he anticipated pulse-pounding scenarios later on, where millions of Beri were at stake in the midst of blurring capture attempts and legal turmoil amidst the bounty hunting world, regarding those he hunted, and, fearfully, regarding himself.

The younger bandit paled at the sight and clutched himself with his good hand. He leaned away as his body shook lightly; he was tearfully huddled by himself, suddenly vulnerable. Kuro approached him, kneeling, and his hand reached for the knife that he was still clutching.

"Don't…" the youth dodged his hand, closing in his shoulders and staring at worn leather of his shoes.

After some fragile resistance, Kuro gently pulled the pocket knife out of his shaking hand and it swung from his fingers like a pendulum. He rolled its switch and the silvery blade sprang out eagerly to meet his experienced eyes. He inspected it with interest, and then retracted the blade. It had a blue glazed body, marked with the subtle engraving of some ancient sea serpent. It looked like a familiar symbol, like from old myths he overheard as a boy when there was nothing left to do in the day but sit in the living room and talk of nonsense.

"This is a very beautiful knife," he commented, and the boy failed to look at him. "Did you steal this?"

The bandit nodded helplessly, rubbing his shoulder across his cheek. His face fell as Kuro slid the tiny weapon into his pocket.

"Where?"

"… I'm not telling."

Kuro gripped his chin. His fingers pressed into the skin of his cheeks until he felt the tenderness of his gums. His voice lowered into a malevolent hiss. "You're telling. Where?"

"Ma... Matsu's," his eyes turned aqueous.

"Tell me more. Is that a man's name? Is that a store? "

"Ippon-Matsu's weapon shop. Matsu is a man… And it's a store—," the boy winced as his face was turned sideways. "—In Lougetown."

"Lougetown, huh?" he got up. "Quaint. I'm not unfamiliar to it. In fact..." He paused and looked at him pensively. "You've got an awful lot of nerve to steal from that man. I'm very impressed."

"Yeah, well, what's it to you?," the boy's rebellious streak returned the moment Kuro's hand was freed his face. "You don't know me."

Kuro ignored him and severed the ties around Sals while the inventor was suddenly rushing over to his aid. She was simultaneously keeping a hawk's eye on the young male.

" I bet you didn't expect this as your average afternoon, Mr. Sals," Nelle looked him over concernedly. "It seems like they didn't get to beating you up, eh?"

"I've been through much worse than a child's arrogance," Sals nodded dully. He turned. "I could have very well done better, but... Mr. Pierce, after watching your technique, I'm heartily impressed. I suppose I'm very thankful as well. But I wouldn't say it's farfetched for me to have got myself in this little mess just to see what you could do," he smiled slyly at him while he turned his wrists over to inspect them.

"You've got an accurate hand," she nodded to Kuro and at his clean cuts that skillfully avoided the man's skin. "Here, let me help you up with that. I've got to do my part sometime," her grin was contagious as she grasped the landlord's wrist.

In their moments of distraction, the bandit boy was slowly shuffling against the wall, knees shaking out of fear. As soon as Kuro made eye contact, he froze in place, and swallowed as if the speech had been sucked out of him.

Then, he spoke, in the form of a question:

"Who are you?"

The youth looked filled with intrigued, unsettled alienation. The two were separated by a schism of experience, of a plane of many bloody years or lack thereof, and the stone-cold eyes of a pirate captain resembled nothing of the warm tones within the eyes of a boy still trying to find himself.

"It's not your place to know," Kuro dismissed.

Their lives were on the opposing faces of the same rusted coin, and there was no telling if this young bandit would ever tread down the dark path of leadership and self-preservation that Kuro had chosen long ago.

The boy remained standing in the same place, leaning against the whitish brick wall, cradling his hand, staring. He became braver with every word he managed to speak to him.

"… Don't hurt her anymore."

"What?"

"Don't hurt Peyli."

Kuro glanced at the unconscious bandit.

"I don't need to. She's conveniently hurt as it is."

"She's my sister," the boy replied defensively. His lip shook as he tried to mask his anxiety and the still-searing, throbbing pain of his wrist. The poor boy would be a pitiful sight to most: however petulant and recusant he was, he was still a deeply saddened, fearful young man without any place to run to.

"Then I suppose you two can share the experience of knowing what it's like to be in a cell. It builds character," Kuro replied bitterly, a reminiscent glaze returning to his eyes as he was flooded with memories both grey and dank, where the stagnant air was thick enough to be swallowed.

"Your sibling will be fine," Nelle assured him as she approached. "Did you know that they give you free food when you're in juvenile detention? Now, you need to learn from this mistake and come with us. Go on. Hop up. Come on. You go in the back."

"Who the heck are you? What the hell is that?" the bandit turned frantically to her and then to the vehicle. "Let go of me!" he squirmed fruitlessly as she took a hold of his good wrist.

"Ouch! Don't even think of biting me! Stop that, you little Neanderthal—I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, my tongue slipped. Struggling is futile. You're a rebellious child who got in trouble. You're not going to die—again with the biting—Will you stop it? I'm trying to treat you like an adult here!"

Nelle's muttering complaints about his struggle was all Kuro heard for the few minutes where he was still searching for the other bandit's weapon. Then, after he slipped the prize into his pocket, he carefully slung the unconscious girl over his shoulder. Though he wasn't paying attention to it, the boy was giving him the most intense, frustrated, and pitiable frown, similar to a Fishman who was being yanked by the arm by a noble's gloved fingers.

Kuro found himself exiled to the tray of the Scalar, next to the red supply boxes, and adjacent to the young bandit that he wounded, and his unconscious, more seasoned sister. The boy's large brown eyes glared at him as he folded his arms across his chest, hiding his pained wrist. It was undoubtedly an awkward situation. Its wheels bumped across a fault in the pathway and both of them were jostled upward, mirroring each other's startled expressions.

"I didn't intend to break your wrist. That was an accident," Kuro admitted distractedly.

The bandit's young brow drew into a furrow and he puckered his lips to the side.

"What did you mean to do, then, huh?"

To that, Kuro remained suspiciously silent, and sat upright, feeling the wind in his hair and the onset of hunger in his gut.

The boy shuffled himself as far away from the ex-captain as possible. His body tensed and he was holding back the tears, substituting it with toughness that he was clearly struggling with.

"Are you alright back there?" Nelle's voice questioned ambiguously. "That was quite the bump in the road."

He hatefully raised his eyes in the direction of her seat, and Kuro watched the boy's eyes follow how she squished a cigarette into the ash tray in between her and Sals.

After the Scalar trundled along for what seemed like an awfully long time, it eventually reached the destination that Sals ordered Nelle to chauffeur them to. The Town Hall was a moderately large building, entirely beautiful yet equally boring in its own symmetry, yet understandably intimidating to any strain of law-breaker. Kuro analyzed its mediocrity as he walked inside. It was out of his comfort zone, but he squared his shoulders and went along his way.

"Who do you work for?" the inventor briefly questioned the boy, and one could even expect her to whip out a notepad right then and there.

"Why would I tell you?"

"There's no logical reason you should tell me, really," she admitted. A silence descended for a moment as she stood in thought. Kuro was distracted by the environment, and by the people streaming in and out of an array of offices, and how he was resisting his own capture just by standing there as a completely different man. Nelle continued.

"Let me make a deal with you. I'll tell the Town Hall to subtract whatever money's needed from what they'll give us, to pay for your wrist. Contrary to popular belief, I do believe that they can point you to the medical facilities for kids like you."

Her voice sounded agreeable, though it was almost like she winced in pain at the thought of losing funds.

"… You'd do that?"

"Do I look like a liar to you?"

He hadn't completely forgone suspicion.

"Give me a break. A liar looks like everybody."

Nelle paused at the comment and lifted her chin, looking enlightened. It produced an inner shudder from Kuro. Yes. This boy was intelligent. In comparison to his relatively agile, experienced sister, one would never guess it from him when they were juxtaposed.

"Is it a deal, then?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow if you come by, if you're really telling the truth..." he looked downwards.

"Great. Thank you for cooperating," she said, almost robotically, but then her expression lightened.

"Do you know how long they'll keep me in there?"

"I don't know. What's the worst you've ever done?"

"… Well, it's not like we've killed anyone or nothin'."

"You'll have enough time to think of how to do better next time, right? This won't happen again if you do- er, it doesn't need to happen," her voice was surprisingly warm towards him as she stammered. "I'm going to be talking to you and your sister in the morning. There will be a call. Answer it. I need further information. This won't happen ever again if you do. Watch after her when she comes to, now. We have enough rotten people in this town as it is," she finished bitterly, though it was more of a mutter to herself that Kuro just so happened to pick up on.

His eyebrows relaxed in contrast to his uncomfortable, ambivalent behavior.

"I will."

There was a curious moment when the boy and his sister were lead away after the conversation. Peyli was just then regaining consciousness, and she obstinately yelled at the authorities. Her protective streak and strong will to escape was overwhelming. It seemed the bandit boy took on a special sort of respect for the inventor for the transaction, and he had almost looked dispirited, as if a thousand regrets were rushing at him at once. They would learn the way of the world within due time, but for now, there were too many questions hurdled their way, and too many that they were beating aside.

Kuro knew the eyes: he knew the pervasive look of being wrong, regretful, and miscalculating.

The clanging and banging of dishes and pans and assorted noisy utensils vibrated through the ambiance of the Sea Lion Shack. It was a corny name for a quaint, respectable restaurant that lied in the heart of Milltown's port, and often attracted many foreign visitors due to its iconic name and coastal themed dishes. Milltown was known for its abundant sea lion population, though when Kuro asked of it, Nelle wouldn't talk about it much, and she seemed to hate the creatures.

They discussed the meager amount of Beri that they were rewarded for the two young ruffians' capture, and much to Kuro's disdain, Nelle was the one with the calculations and the dividends, due to her clear identification records, along with her experience with money-handling and anything having to do with a business. The downsides to being a "shadow man"- someone not affiliated with the government or even having any valid identification- were crippling to him. He pressed his fingers into his forehead. At this point, he would scrape what he could get, for now, and lay low with his payments, as his identity as Mr. Kurt Pierce was infinitely safer than regressing into a failed Captain Kuro and becoming a redundant mess.

There was a silver lining to every cloud: he had finally gotten his lunch.

"I suppose that settling down wasn't your cup of tea…" Sals began talking to Nelle in a more personal manner that Kuro examined as he sat in thought. The former bounty hunter dug his fork into his salad and swished it around until he plucked out a ripe slice of tomato. "Though I never thought that you would actually go through with something like this. It reminds me of my old days."

"Settling down requires a great deal of fulfillment with the life you already have. And, honestly, I would, if the rest of this sea even appreciated mechanics to the extent that I do, and made thorough use of what it has to offer," she moved her fork around her plate while chewing on a piece of lettuce. "It's something that I lack, what with all of the money I've lost lately... Ah, it's our friend!" Nelle suddenly became distracted and signaled with a wave.

"How's the food?" the ruddy-haired chef sauntered over to smile at them. "Oh, and, hello... Kurt, correct?"

"It's pleasant, thank you. You're right. Good day," Kuro replied curtly and then phased him out to focus on his meal. He wasn't in a mood for idle conversation, especially with someone who had nothing to with his business.

"Delectable, Andrew," Sals replied. "You'll make a marvelous chef one day."

"I'd like to see Andy's very own restaurant become a reality," Nelle added. "You can do it. I've seen it happen."

"Really?" Andy bashfully rubbed his neck. "Jeez, well, I am working on it. I'm working very hard, actually... In fact, I've become busy." He paused and looked at his own work set on the table. "Hey, do you know when Neil will be around again? He told me he's been in training lately."

"Him?" Nelle blinked. "Oh. Can't you find him inside any club around here? He goes to parties like they're grocery stores, like they're a necessity. Since we do have a training facility here, he should be wiggling out of them to those party-places or discos, or whatever they're called, any time he gets to have fun. You know, like he always does."

"I was thinking of hanging out with him outside of one of those damned places. He tried to take me to one last week... Do you know what happened, Nelle?"

"Uh..."

He took a deep breath, as if recounting it was humiliating.

"Somebody grabbed my-"

Suddenly, a frustrated yell addressed him from the depths of the kitchen.

"Oh, I have to go! Ah, thanks, both of you!" his burly self nervously ran off, hand pressed atop his own head to secure his cooking hat. Kuro was unsure what to think of the young chef-to-be. He admired his cooking, for one thing, but he found him particularly good-hearted, in a way that made him feel distant. There were only nice things to say about Andrew Harlow from his peers, although he could be clumsy and pessimistic. Perhaps he would appear more often later on, but for now, he found the fish in front of him more appealing.

"Somebody grabbed his... Somebody grabbed his what?" Nelle's eyes narrowed confusedly and they darted to both of them for contribution. Kuro paid the dumb question no mind, but found it amusing how someone who regularly spent all of their time on high-flung equations, complex tools, and business work could be so oblivious to simple social cues.

"I love that kid. He reminds me of my son," Sals smiled distractedly, then hastily jumped to another topic. "Keep a good head about you, Nelle. …" he paused, flashing his eyes to Kuro. There was an uncomfortable silence. But then he spoke up again with reasonable sincerity. "If not, I'm sure that Mr. Pierce has one. So I doubt you must worry that much." His smile was warm and wise, but Kuro had a mantra that had never failed him in the past, and was entirely unfair to those that put their faith in him and his facades:

Trust no one.

"Ah, yes, I already know all too well about Mr. Pierce's cleverness," Nelle replied half-jokingly. "But I'm a little insulted. Never doubt my capacity for a stable mind. Anybody else would have gone insane in my situation by now. Sign the papers, write the formulas, call the imbeciles who misread the instructions, sign the papers, write the formulas, read the formulas… I've had enough. I'm going to get my ideas out there to people that will make it soar." She made a sweeping motion with the fork in her hand, making a pierced piece of tangerine fly with it.

"The last time you tried, remember… The incident?"

"Oh, yes. The incident," she raised her fork and waved it at him. "We don't talk about that."

"The incident?" Kuro averted his eyes from his balmy bowl of fish chowder. "You've gotten me curious. As somebody who's trying his best to adjust to the nuances of life here, I think I have the right to know."

"It's nothing to be concerned about, I assure you. … These drinks are delightful, aren't they?"

"Your employer is just very embarrassed to tell you that at one time, the Scalar, it…" Sals glanced at Nelle expectantly. "It exploded…"

Kuro's expression grew humorously flat. He had the expressive capacity of a plank of driftwood, yet his eyes were suspicious and his Adam's apple was slowly crawling back into its original place.

"Did I hear you correctly?" He cleared his throat and glanced towards the door of the restaurant.

"It exploded," Sals snorted and tried to contain his laughter.

"Excuse me. That was Scalar I. One," Nelle raised her finger with a pedantic frown. "That was the first prototype. An entirely different beast in itself."

"You just keep creating monsters."

"That's enough, grandfather," she chewed. "You know as well as I that you're consistently impressed with my handiwork."

"Grandfather! What? That's no way for a tenant to behave! I'm not even old enough to be your grandfather!"

"I think my postulation is nothing but valid, since you're acting senile enough," Nelle smirked around her fork.

A little hint of a smile edged around the ex-captain's lips as he contained his sense of humor. He wore his Kurt Pierce smile at both of them.

"I'd be dead already if I were unfortunate enough to be your grandpa," their banter continued.

"For gods' sakes, I'm only thirty. You have time."

"Barely. When's your birthday? August… 29th, isn't it?"

"Thirty-one, alright."

"Wait until your father hears about the way you push your jokes… If I live to tell the tale in that thing of yours!"

"For heaven's sake, put this into perspective. That was seven years ago. There were no passengers. And it was on the beach of the uninhabited side of the coast," the inventor's face flattened seriously, though she looked ridiculous as she irritably chewed a mouthful of vegetables. "Your argument is invalid."

"I have a hard time believing that your hair's always been wiry," he responded to her with a subdued chortle.

"You're too much…" Nelle groaned. "Mr. Pierce, there are many different types of explosions for an interesting variety of reasons. He's being far too general," she asserted with a wave of her hand as she tried to defend her ego.

The lunch meeting regressed into more serious discussion after Kuro found himself confused and caught between the landlord and the inventor's acerbic yet light-hearted bantering. What an odd relationship they had—it was almost as if the two were related. He was intensely questioned by Sals on his agile fighting technique, and praised for his efficiency in disarming as well as his unusual reflexes:

What training did you go through? Your speed is remarkable, what's your secret? How did you tune your reflexes like that? What's your exercise regimen? Were you born with such a gift?

The honest answers to these questions would have been too shocking.

Nelle and Sals talked for a lengthy amount of time about how promoting his skills would work, and it seems that Sals was only necessary for the beginning portion of his career, where he held an immense bank of knowledge and authority over registered bounty hunters and wanted felons. He was the source of advice when Nelle's dizzying folders wouldn't suffice, and he knew the infrastructure of the World Government's bounty system more thoroughly than either of them. However, there was something strangely perceptive within his eyes, and the cutting edge of his intuition felt like an exposing mirror.

Was this man truly oblivious, or did he know about it all? Was he merely to become a cog in their monetary plot? He discarded the thought, thinking it to be too sinister for either of them. After a few hours of useful discussion and equally useless casual conversation, it was time for both parties to return home, or, as Nelle would say in that phlegmatic way of hers, "back to business."

The dull and stagnant hush of the inventor's home was a pleasant contrast to the afternoon. It was evening. Lamp in tow, the woman remained sitting at her living room desk, and pleasantly ignored his existence as he spent most of the evening reclined in thought and mostly silent. She wore a focused, subtle frown, and her heavy eyelids were lowered. Her thick carmine robe gave a stiffness to her posture that ran all the way down to the dark, baggy silks of her slacks while she slouched over the text with professor-like austerity.

Kuro was thumbing through one of the books that lay on one of her shelves, but he soon figured out how improper his judgment was. Its pages were covered in dissertations and dry proofs, riddled with bizarre equations that were as long as they were baffling. It quickly made him frustrated at how he couldn't decipher their meaning. He was never educated in such things, and never had a need for it. He put the book aside before he would be bombarded with Nelle's questions about it, and pulled into a discussion about concepts he had never even gleamed before.

After a few hours, Nelle's chair creaked as it was pushed backwards. She claimed the large chair across from him, and casually leaned on its arm. A small, lacquered box was lifted from the table and he watched as she opened it. Her left hand dug around her robe's pocket until she pulled out a match from its container. She cradled the pipe as she lit it with more gentility than he'd ever seen her interact with a person. Smoke floated from its curved mouth and she inhaled slowly. There was a lack of eye contact and he found this much more pleasant than the Nelle earlier who chose to undermine him for his lack of technical knowledge.

"Well, today was certainly eventful in a way I wouldn't have normally liked," she finally spoke up and moved her piece to the side. "I got some paperwork done this evening while you were lying there, staring off into space with the most glassy look in your eyes." A careless stream of smoke escaped her nostrils. "I apologize. I usually don't do this inside, but I've been anxious lately. And I think I should be honest with you… Having you around doesn't exactly make me comfortable. I intend to take out the jet ski tomorrow morning, to clear my head, as I usually do- it was the reason I had found you in the first place. But, I'm not so sure," she admitted uncomfortably, and cleared her throat.

"At least you've got enough sense to be afraid. But if you truly knew any better, you'd lie. You'd play dumb and favor me. You'd pretend like you even cared. You'd grovel at my feet, knowing what I am. You'd try to hide what you fear the most. It's simply human condition, and rarely do I meet a civilian so unorthodox as to not abide by that simple rule of survival. Would you like to know a secret?" Kuro asked with an evil smolder.

"You're getting cozy with me already? You're a peculiar man. So, what is it then?"

"If it's within my range of control, there wouldn't be a single person alive who knows my identity."

Nelle froze mid-puff, and coughed in a startled manner after the smoke had been suppressed. She embarrassedly balled up her hand to contain it. Her eyebrows turned inward and her eyes anxiously dilated at him beneath her otherwise motionless attitude.

"But, Ms. Nerz, today is your lucky day," he traced his finger around a water glass. "This isn't a situation where I would find that to be immediately beneficial. In fact, since you're so knowledgeable, I would expect you to treat my identity carefully and responsibly."

"Tell me something sensitive," the inventor narrowed her eyes. "What do you want? In general. Out of all this. You accepted the job quickly, back there. It must be for a good reason. What do you want out of life, really? I would respect you much more and start to treat you as an actual human being if you just told me. I'm curious."

Nelle was a very coarse person; openly admitting that she had been treating him like a deadly object didn't seem trying for her.

But who could ever blame her?

What he truly desired wasn't a difficult question for him, since he mulled on it repetitively and did so more than he could count.

"I want a clean name. I want to live my life free of worry from the law. My name, my reputation... Everything associated with Captain Kuro has become a malignant sore. I want to be rid of this chase, this worry. How should I put it understandably so that you may get even a gleam of what it feels like?," Kuro lifted the lacquered box from the table, his stare unthinkingly getting lost its patterns. "It's an irritating, lifelong ball-and-chain that threatens my happiness and my sanity. It's the closest thing that I can compare to being eaten alive in the slowest manner possible. I believe that too many people use that expression, but rarely do they say what they mean or understand it to the extent that I have."

Nelle's eyebrows were drawn up, nearly fixed in place. The engineer wore a slightly irritating, patronizing frown at him that attempted to feign understanding, but her expression was still too stolid to be convincing. Could she have possibly been holding back some biting remark?

"Huh. Well. I don't exactly know what to say for consolation. It's all very fascinating, but I, personally... Don't take this the wrong way. Just, excuse me, I'm not specialized in these situations. I'm sorry," she pressed her fingers together on her forehead. "I think the easiest way to do that," the inventor removed her pipe and freed its smoke to the side. "Is to become the man who doesn't deserve it."

Not all men deserved second chances in life, but there were some who got them regardless of their evil, and rarely was it a fair world. There was an awkwardly lengthy lapse, occupied by silence and mutual eye contact. Due to Kuro's adamant nature, he rarely found others' ideas to be of any worth in comparison to his own, but this gnawed at him slowly, and he grimly worried that he wouldn't be able to—that he wouldn't want to.

"Your words are thought-provoking. However…"

"Is it really that difficult for you?"

"There isn't a need to press into my personal matters," Kuro quickly answered his employer's interruption. "I want wealth. I want peace of mind. I just want to be happy, and those are the ingredients. Money can't buy me peace, this is true, but it can bring me satisfaction. A clear mind is what I desire. Nothing in the world is more valuable," he sighed wistfully as he stared at the plain ceiling, though his mind was filled with an elusive, seemingly unattainable dream and the faint smell of smoke. "Nothing."