By evening, Nami had finally released her orange-picking conscripts from their agricultural labor.
"Luffy, come here—I need to talk to you," Gustave called, spotting the boy's approach.
"Uncle Gustave, I'm completely wiped out," Luffy groaned, dragging his feet like a condemned man. "Please don't give me any more work today."
"Don't worry, no extra tasks—except washing dishes after dinner."
"Wait, I still have to wash dishes?" Luffy collapsed dramatically to the deck. After a full day of orange harvesting under Nami's relentless supervision, even dishwashing felt like cruel punishment.
"I'll add thirty minutes to your gaming time."
Luffy executed a perfect recovery somersault, springing to his feet with renewed energy. "Don't worry, Uncle Gustave! Those dishes will be spotless!"
"You little schemer," Gustave chuckled, flicking the boy's forehead. "Alright, listen up. We have two new guests aboard the Bamboo Staff today. One of them is a... volatile woman with serious anger management issues. I'm warning you now—if you provoke her and get yourself pulverized, don't come crying to me."
The warning was necessary. Luffy's talent for inadvertently offending dangerous people was legendary, and Camearra's current mental state made her particularly unpredictable.
"Hmph! I'm sick of dealing with women anyway," Luffy declared with the righteous indignation of the overworked. "If it wasn't for Nami, I wouldn't be dead tired right now. I won't bother with any new lady guests!"
Gustave nodded approvingly. Perhaps there was hope for the boy yet.
When dinner time arrived, Camearra remained conspicuously absent from the dining area. Gustave decided against summoning her—after thirty million years of imprisonment, missing one meal wouldn't kill her.
Halfway through their seafood feast, however, the dark warrior made her entrance.
"Ah, perfect timing! We're having dinner—would you like to join us?" Gustave's smile radiated forced cheer, though the nervous sweat on his brow betrayed his anxiety.
Camearra ignored him completely, her attention immediately drawn to the Moral Lord. The seemingly ordinary old man radiated an oppressive presence that made even her ancient power feel insignificant.
"Good evening," the Moral Lord said pleasantly, noticing her scrutiny.
"Good evening, honored elder," Camearra replied with surprising respect—a tone she'd shown no one else since her arrival.
"Would you care to join our meal? My apprentice here is quite the talented chef."
"Thank you for the offer, but I only came down to ask about clothing," Camearra declined politely.
"Ah, you'll want to speak with Gustave about that." The Moral Lord gestured casually toward his nervous disciple before returning to his dinner.
"Haha, what kind of clothing would Miss Camearra prefer?" Gustave's laugh sounded strained as he addressed her directly.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Camearra's attention shifted to him. Gone was the respectful tone she'd used with the Moral Lord.
"I need a shirt for Daigo. Something to change into."
Her voice carried all the warmth of a glacier, as if Gustave owed her vast sums of money.
Did she... violate him up there? Gustave's imagination ran wild with disturbing possibilities.
"Daigo had a nightmare and broke out in a cold sweat," Camearra explained curtly, reading his expression with unsettling accuracy. In the old days, such perverted thoughts would have earned Gustave a one-way trip through the nearest wall. Now, for Daigo's sake—and with the Moral Lord's intimidating presence nearby—she was making an effort to control her temper.
"Of course! I'll get something right away—"
"Finish your meal first." With that curt dismissal, Camearra turned and departed, leaving only the lingering sense of barely contained power.
"Uncle Gustave, you never treat me that nicely..." Luffy observed with growing resentment, comparing Gustave's obsequious behavior toward Camearra with his usual authoritarian approach.
"Gaming time," Gustave replied with casual finality.
"I'm sorry! I was completely wrong!" Luffy immediately stood and bowed deeply.
Still cursing me internally, no doubt, Gustave thought with amusement. But such was life—he bullied the weak and feared the strong with admirable consistency. Camearra could obliterate him without effort, earning his most respectful service. Luffy, being considerably weaker, served as a convenient stress outlet.
Some might wonder why he didn't rely on the Moral Lord's protection. The answer was simple: knowing his master's character, the ancient sage would probably applaud Camearra beating him senseless, possibly offering helpful suggestions on technique. The old man found such entertainment far more interesting than intervening.
Flexibility was survival.
After dinner, Gustave traveled to Kasukabe through the Gate, estimating Daigo's measurements and purchasing appropriate clothing.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Miss Camearra, this outfit is brand new," he said when she opened the door. "Please have Daigo try it on, and if it doesn't fit properly, just let me know—I can exchange it immediately."
His tone maintained that same carefully respectful cadence.
"Thank you. I'll pay you back for the clothes later," Camearra replied, accepting the garments before closing the door without ceremony.
Her coldness remained unchanged, though Gustave honestly hadn't expected payment. After thirty million years of imprisonment, where would she have obtained money? He'd fully intended the clothing as a free gift—partly from generosity, partly from self-preservation.
Daigo, I hope you find happiness somehow, Gustave thought sympathetically. The poor man was paying for Tiga's ancient sins, carrying debt he'd never consciously incurred. The cosmic injustice was almost tragic.
Yet the more Gustave considered the situation—the memory fragments, Camearra's treatment of Daigo, the mysterious connection between them—the more a theory crystallized in his mind.
According to the original Ultraman Tiga series, the ancient warrior had left his physical form behind while his light returned to "his homeland." But where exactly was that homeland? Popular theories suggested Orion, that Tiga's essence had traveled to that distant constellation.
But what if the truth was more complex? What if Tiga's consciousness had entered the cycle of reincarnation itself? What if Daigo wasn't just Tiga's chosen successor, but Tiga's actual reincarnated soul?
It would explain everything—the shared memories, Camearra's instant recognition, the seamless transformation. Daigo and Tiga weren't separate beings bound by mystical artifacts. They were the same person, separated only by the vast gulf of time and rebirth. Tiga's original memories might have been erased by eons of existence, but his essential self lived on in Daigo's modern form.
The relationship reminded Gustave of certain Buddhist concepts of reincarnation—the same soul wearing different faces across multiple lifetimes, each incarnation building upon yet transcending the last.
If his theory proved correct, then Camearra's obsession made perfect sense. She wasn't just fixated on Tiga's successor—she was in love with the same man who'd betrayed her thirty million years ago, now wearing a different face and carrying a human heart instead of a giant's power.
Poor Daigo indeed, Gustave mused. He's about to rediscover a love story that could reshape universes—whether he wants to or not.
(The above is Author own speculation about the relationship between Daigo and Tiga, so this will use it as the setting for this story, and subsequent content will be expanded based on this premise.)