I dug my dagger into the cod skull, just behind the eye. Deep. Fast. The blade slipped in with a sound like crushed ice.
I made sure it was dead, then got to work.
Gut first. I cut a long line from the gills to the lower belly, reached in, and yanked out everything that didn't belong. The heat of the sun and the stink of the fish mixed with the salt from the sea nearby. My hands worked with practiced rhythm. Chop. Cut. Peel. Slice. Bones cracked. Skin curled away. Flesh was carved into long, even fillets and hung on hooks.
Smoke curled gently from the racks. The three kids—Tamanegi, Piiman, and Ninjin—worked in sync, tossing in fresh vegetation and chopped logs to keep the smoke dense but not blazing. They didn't complain. They didn't slack.
I looked at them for a moment.
They stopped when they caught my eye and snapped into a salute, grinning through soot-streaked cheeks before tossing more greens into the fire.
I gave them a short nod and left.
Next stop was the chief's house.
I knocked. The door creaked open and the chief's son stood there. He said nothing. Just jerked his chin and motioned me to follow.
Around the back, a cart waited, parked beneath a canvas awning. Inside it were barrels—clean, sealed, and packed with everything I'd asked for. Water. Rice. Preserved vegetables. Bundled medical supplies. Fishing lines and flint. A few tools. Oilcloth for rain.
The essentials.
I thanked him.
He didn't say anything. Just gave me a look.
I grabbed the cart by the handle and started to push.
Once I reached the shaded part of the dock, I tucked the cart under the awning and covered it with cloth to shield it from the sea wind. After making sure everything was in order.
I walked away. I didn't have the time to linger.
Just work.
The sun had started to dip. Orange bled into the sky as the last of the light caught the treetops. I made my way back.
The kids were still there, keeping the fire alive.
Too late for them to be out here. I waved them off. Shooed them away. They grumbled and resisted at first, but eventually wandered off, still proud of their contribution.
I called in a favor from a villager, an older man who agreed to keep the smoking fire going through the night for a small fee. He didn't ask questions. Just nodded, rolled up his sleeves, and settled in by the racks.
That was done.
I moved on to the treehouse.
The ladder groaned under my weight as I climbed up. Usopp was hunched over a workbench that looked like it had been cobbled together from scrap wood, boat parts, and stubborn willpower. His goggles were down. His sleeves rolled up. His hands blackened with powder, soot, and wire grease.
He didn't even look up as I reached the top.
He'd been working like this for three days straight. Maybe more. I'd lost count.
So far, he'd crafted five thermite grenades and twenty bullets.
Combined with the previous batch, that brought my total to twelve grenades and twenty-seven bullets.
He was working on something else now.
Carina climbed the rope behind me.
I raised a hand to pause Usopp's tinkering.
It was time.
I pulled the bounty poster from inside my coat and unfolded it slowly.
Kuro.
The image was grainy. Old. But it was unmistakably him. The posture. The glasses. The unbothered sneer in the drawing. A pirate of precision and intelligence. A killer who planned decades into the future with a librarian's discipline.
Usopp blinked. Carina stared.
At first, confusion.
Then realization.
Carina whispered the word, like it had been clawing at her throat the whole time.
"Kaizoku."
Pirate.
Usopp turned pale.
He looked ready to bolt. Fear lived in his eyes. Not for himself, but for Kaya. For what this meant.
I stopped him before her even stood up.
Told him without words: he couldn't run.
And more importantly—he couldn't act.
Not yet.
He tried to argue, but I cut through it all. Klahadore—Kuro—wouldn't harm Kaya. If he had wanted her dead, she would've been gone long ago. That wasn't his goal. His play was slower, deeper, more intricate. It was about trust. Image. Timing.
Usopp frowned, chewing on the logic.
Eventually, it stuck.
He lowered his head and gave a quiet nod.
I handed him the last two frag grenade from my original batch. Then five thermite grenades. Ten thermite bullets.
Carina accepted her portion without protest. She didn't ask questions. She understood too much.
This wasn't preparation anymore. It was contingency.
I told Usopp what he had to do. He had to go back to Kaya every day. Eat with her. Talk with her. Pretend like nothing had changed. Keep her happy. Keep her blind.
He didn't like it. But when I reminded him that if he didn't, Kaya could get hurt—that this silence was the only thing keeping her safe—he nodded grimly.
He understood. Even if it gutted him.
I hugged him. Tight.
This wasn't goodbye. But it might be the last moment of calm we had before everything fell apart.
I hoped the battle for Syrup Village wouldn't start while I was away. I hoped it would wait. Until I returned. Or until Luffy arrived.
Hope wasn't strategy. But it was something.
Carina and I descended the treehouse together.
We walked the long road back to the mansion in silence until I broke it.
I told her what I needed.
She would be the last fallback.
If everything crumbled—if Kuro made his move before I returned—she had to protect them both.
Kaya.
Usopp.
She didn't flinch.
She just nodded.
Then came the cost.
She named her price.
I didn't argue.
I accepted the price.
I'd promised I wouldn't falter. But handing her protection to someone else? That felt like failure.
But it was necessary.
Killing Kuro would solve one problem and unleash five more. His crew was still out there, and they knew this island. I could kill the man, but I couldn't erase what he'd already put into motion.
It wasn't just about dealing with him.
It was about uprooting the plan he had kept going for years.
Eradicate the disease. Not just the symptom.
But now that I was out. Klahadore or rather Kuro would should surely slow down his plan. His plan required him to be the most liked by Kaya after all.
And with me out of the picture, he could do that easily.
This should push Kuro to stick with the script.
--------------
I ruffled Kaya's hair softly. Her hair was warm beneath my hand, slightly damp from the tears she hadn't stopped shedding since I told her I was leaving. Her eyes were red and puffy, her lips trembling. She tried her best to hold herself together, but the tears kept coming.
Tears are a man's weakness.
Not blades, not bullets. Not wounds or hunger. No—just that look in someone's eyes when they're hurting, and there's nothing you can do but walk away from them. And in that moment, I faltered. Not because I didn't want to go, but because I hated what leaving did to her.
I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything.
Carina stepped forward without a word and placed a steady hand on Kaya's back. Kaya turned to her, folding into the comfort of someone who knew how to absorb grief without breaking. Carina didn't whisper sweet reassurances. She didn't tell her it would be okay. She just held her and guided her a few steps back.
From the side, Merry approached. He held something small in his hands, wrapped in a cloth—his old sidearm, aged but well-kept, polished to a dull shine. He offered it silently.
I took it from him.
In return, I pulled a folded paper from my coat—the contract I had drawn up for the keel of the ship. Adam Wood or nothing. The spine of the vessel would either be the strongest or wouldn't exist at all.
Merry accepted it with a firm nod and slipped it into the back pocket of his trousers. He didn't unfold it. He didn't need to. He had already agreed in spirit. Now it was just ink and paper sealing it.
And if Fate forced him to go against it, I wouldn't force him to follow.
The farewell didn't come with fanfare. No drums. No cheers. Just quiet motion.
The kids arrived next—Tamanegi, Piiman, and Ninjin—running full-speed toward me. They crashed into my legs like a wave, nearly knocking me off balance.
Their arms clung to me like vines. They didn't sob loudly. They didn't scream. They just held on, trembling. Their eyes were wide and glassy, trying hard not to spill. Trying to be strong. I looked down and saw what they held in their hands.
Tamanegi pulled a half-eaten rice ball from his pocket—his snack for the day—and tried to give it to me. Piiman had his slingshot, the one I gave him weeks ago, held out in both hands like a sacred object. Ninjin cradled the compass I had lent him, its face scratched and weathered but still ticking.
I bent down slowly, one hand on each of their shoulders, and gently pushed their gifts back.
It was my gift to them. Gifts once given aren't to be taken back.
So I gave them each a pat on the head, ruffled their hair one last time. They didn't resist. They didn't argue. But the look in their eyes said it all.
They didn't understand why I had to go. They just understood I wouldn't be here tomorrow.
Usopp came last.
He was crouched by the boat, tool belt slung around his waist, oil on his hands. He was still tinkering even now. Always had to be doing something. It was his way of coping—keeping busy so he didn't have to sit still with his thoughts.
When I approached, he stood and pointed toward the mast with a quiet pride.
A rod was fixed to the top of the mast, its thin silhouette barely visible against the morning sky.
"Hiraishin." he said.
Lightning rod.
"Kore ni yori, arashi no naka demo idō ga kanō ni narimasu."
He bragged that it would help disperse lightning safely. That even in the heart of a storm, the boat would remain grounded—safe from strikes.
I smiled.
How could he not be proud? I'd only mentioned the idea in passing. And now, here it was, real and mounted. He'd made it happen.
I pulled him into a hug.
Tight.
He froze for a second. Then wrapped his arms around me, his grip unsure but growing firmer with each passing second.
"Kaya o daiji ni shite kudasai." I told him.
Take good care of Kaya.
He didn't answer with words. But I felt the nod against my shoulder. His body stiffened. His breathing hitched. He didn't cry—not yet. But the tears welled in his eyes, a fine sheen of emotion balancing at the edge.
Still, none fell.
Because I'd once told him a man doesn't cry unless there's no one left to protect.
He remembered that.
I stepped back, looked him in the eye, and said nothing more.
Then I turned to the village chief. He stood at the edge of the dock, hands tucked behind his back.
I bowed low. Deep. Wordless.
"Arigato." I said softly.
He gave a single nod, then turned away before the emotion could swell.
I moved to the chief's son next, gave him a small nod.
He returned it, short and respectful.
And finally, Carina.
She stood apart from the others. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowed. Trying to look unimpressed. But as I walked toward her, she dropped the mask.
Her hands wrapped around me fast. No hesitation. No pause.
She hugged me hard.
I hugged her back.
It was the kind you give someone walking into fire. Knowing you could do nothing but watch them walk into the blaze.
The others thought I was heading off to bring Nami back. The danger was weather, they thought. Waves and wind. Maybe a few rogue pirates.
But Carina knew more.
She didn't ask questions. She didn't ask for answers. She just held on a little longer, her head against my shoulder.
I had distanced myself from her over the past weeks. Not out of anger. Not even out of fear. Just instinct.
I couldn't afford closeness. Not when I knew how easily it could be used against me. Against her.
By this world and its plot.
It was a cold move.
A calculated one.
A dick move.
And still, she didn't say a word about it now. She didn't scold. She didn't ask why.
She just let go, finally, and stepped back.
No goodbye.
Just a look.
And I nodded.
Then I turned.
The boat waited at the edge of the dock, bobbing gently on the tide.
The sails were folded. The cargo secured. Everything had been checked, double-checked.
I climbed aboard. My boots touched the wood like it was something sacred.
I walked to the bow, hands steady on the ropes, and began to unfold the sails.
The wind caught them instantly, billowing them outward with a crack like a whip.
The boat groaned slightly, then surged forward as if it too knew there was no turning back.
"Mataatode." I called behind me.
See you later.
No promises. No guarantees. Just those words.
I smiled—because that was all I could give them.
And as the boat drifted from the dock, as the sea opened before me and the shore shrank behind, I didn't look back.
If I did, I might hesitate.
And hesitation had no place in what was coming.
I had said what needed saying.
And now, it was time to sail.
Into the rain.
Into the teeth of the world.
Into everything I couldn't predict.
Let it come.
I would not falter.