Aria's Pov
The longer I hung around Galley-La, the more the air started to taste like gunpowder. Not literally, but you didn't need haki to sense the tension building under the polished wood and fresh paint of the shipyard. Iceberg was quieter in the office, Kalifa's heels clicked with more edge than usual, and Kaku—sweet, oblivious Kaku—kept looking like he'd forgotten where he put his wrench when really I knew it was just cover for how wound-up things were getting.
And me? I was a bundle of nerves stuffed into a corset.
Iceberg had found the blueprints.
I knew what was coming. I'd watched this whole play once before, with popcorn and subtitles. The CP9 betrayal. The blueprints. The night the shipyard turned into a bloodbath.
Now I was here, breathing in the sawdust, sipping Iceberg's too-strong coffee, and every time I saw Lucci's shadow cross the hall, my stomach did this traitorous little flip. Great timing, hormones. Perfect.
I tried. Really, I did. Subtle warnings, like maybe I could butterfly-effect the story without unraveling the whole damn tapestry.
One morning while Iceberg flipped through a pile of blueprints, muttering to himself, I leaned against the doorway and cleared my throat. "So, uh… if you were… hypothetically… targeted by, like, assassins in very snappy suits, what would you do?"
He didn't even look up. "Tell Kalifa to shred the paperwork and shoot them."
"Okay but—what if Kalifa was one of them?"
That earned me a sharp look over his glasses. "Aria, if you're going to play guessing games, at least bring breakfast."
Strike one.
Later, while helping him carry lumber, I tried again: "Say you had this super valuable blueprint that, I dunno, villains might want. Wouldn't it be safer if you just, like… didn't have it anymore?"
He blinked, confused, then smiled. "Well, Aria, some things are worth protecting no matter the risk."
Ugh. Strike two.
By the time I cornered Iceberg a third time, even I could tell I sounded like a bad fortune cookie. "You know, it's just… danger has a way of sneaking in where you least expect it. Especially from people close to you."
Iceberg set his pen down, gave me one of those polite but exhausted smiles, and said, "Thank you for your… concern. Try not to read so many penny thrillers."
Strike three.
I went home that night, flopped onto my bed, and buried my face in my pillow. "Great job, Aria," I muttered into the fabric. "You've successfully warned him like a cryptic carnival psychic. Ten out of ten. Totally saved the day."
And then there was Lucci.
Every time he passed me in the hall, I swore the air shifted. He barely spoke—half the time it was the pigeon cooing on his shoulder, translating with more personality than his owner. And yet my heart raced whenever he spared me so much as a glance.
Which was insane. Objectively insane. This was the man about to stab Iceberg in the back. The villain. The guy who was going to make Water 7 a living hell.
And yet…
The way he carried himself, calm as a blade in its sheath. The dark eyes that gave nothing but hinted everything. The faint curl of his mouth when he wasn't even smiling, just existing. It was intoxicating.
I found myself rehearsing conversations in the mirror like an idiot. "Oh, hey, Lucci, I didn't notice you there—" hair flip "—want to grab a drink?" And then I'd groan at my own reflection, because drinks weren't going to cut it. I'd have to go big. Bold. Full-throttle seduction.
Except the guilt gnawed at me. Every time I thought of Iceberg's kind patience, or the way he actually listened when I talked about nothing, I felt like dirt. What kind of person tries to bone the villain the night before he betrays the good guy she just slept with?
Me. Apparently me.