The deck of the Shadow Coral-bound ship buzzed with anticipation, the air heavy with salt, damp wood, and the faint metallic tang of rigging swaying in the breeze. Kael, Toro, and Liro stood rooted, their jaws slack as they stared at Odoho, the ghost-like kid who'd materialized as if from the sea itself. His presence, unnoticed until his flat voice cut through, was unnerving—like spotting a shadow you swore wasn't there a moment ago. Odoho sighed, his dull eyes sweeping over the trio, unreadable as the horizon.
"How can I help you?" he asked, his monotonous tone barely rising above the waves' rhythmic slap.
Kael shook off his shock, clearing his throat to steady himself.
"Uh, let's move somewhere quieter, Odoho. Follow us—and please, don't vanish again." He gestured toward a secluded corner of the deck, away from the clamor of workers prepping for the Coral run.
The trio moved quickly, Odoho trailing like a wisp, his footsteps silent on the weathered planks.
Finding a private spot was easy enough. Most of the crew was either sprawled out, catching rest before the reefs, or checking gear, their voices a low hum against the creak of the ship's timbers. The four settled near a stack of crates, the sea's briny scent mingling with the faint rot of old rope. Kael scanned the area, ensuring no curious ears lingered, then leaned in, his voice low but firm.
"Odoho, that's your name, right?" he asked, studying the kid's blank face.
"Yes," Odoho replied, his expression as unchanging as the moon in the sky.
Kael exchanged a glance with Toro and Liro, their eyes reflecting the same cautious hope.
"Alright, straight to the point," Kael said. "We're new to Shadow Coral, but we heard about you from some friends—Anna and Vanessa. They said you're always alone, and we think you'd be a good fit to join us harvesting. It's better with a group, more beli to go around."
Odoho's brows twitched, a flicker of skepticism. "I don't know those names. And I'm fine solo. Why do you care if I join?"
Toro leaned forward, his earnest grin cutting through the tension. "Odoho, teamwork's where the money's at. We made solid beli on Crimson Bloom runs because we worked together. Coral's a new challenge, but the game is the same—stick with us, and you'll see bigger payouts. What do you say?"
The words hung in the humid air, the silence stretching as Odoho's gaze flicked between them. His eyes, dark and lifeless, seemed to peel back their intentions, searching for cracks. Kael's pulse quickened—he could sense Odoho slipping away, his disinterest a wall they couldn't breach. Finally, Odoho spoke, his voice sharp despite its flatness.
"There's something you're not saying," he said. "Why the hard sell? What's really going on?"
The trio froze, their easy rhythm stuttering. They couldn't reveal Olbap's interest—not yet, not without knowing if Odoho could be trusted. Liro, quick as ever, leaned forward, his voice calm but measured, like a man stepping through a swamp full of snakes.
"You're right," Liro admitted, choosing his words carefully. "Someone we work for noticed you. They think you've got something unique, and they want you with us to see if you're the real deal. That's all we'll say for now."
Odoho's head tilted, his face still a blank slate. "Someone's interested in me? I'm nothing special. Nobody notices me unless I want them to."
Toro chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "That's exactly it, man. You don't see it, but they do. Come on, we're a good group—stick with us, and you'll have some fun while making money."
Odoho's gaze drifted to the sea, the waves glinting like shattered glass under the rising sun. The trio waited, the tension coiling tighter, the creak of the ship and distant shouts filling the void. Finally,Odoho spoke, his voice as even as ever.
"You're making this sound bigger than it is. Fine, I'll check it out. But if it's not worth my time, I'm gone—no hard feelings. Deal?"
"Deal," Kael said, relief flooding his chest. "You won't regret it, Odoho. Let's plan the Coral run—we've got a bit before we hit the reefs."
The four huddled closer, sketching out their strategy. They'd need to move fast through the ocean dangers—strong currents, sharks eels, and worse—to harvest enough Coral to catch Graves and Vex's eyes. Odoho listened, offering sparse nods, his presence still faint, like a whisper you only heard when you strained for it.
Meanwhile, in Krakenport
The tavern in Krakenport was a haze of ale fumes, sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. In the back, roped off for bets and brawls, Olbap was getting pummeled. Popeye towered over him, a mountain of muscle casting a shadow as Olbap staggered to his feet, spitting blood onto the dirt-streaked floor.
His body was a map of pain—bruises bloomed across his ribs, his arms ached from blocking, and his jaw throbbed from a glancing hook. An hour of sparring with Popeye felt like a lifetime, each blow a reminder of the gap between them. Olbap tensed for every hit, but it was like bracing against a collapsing cliff.
He lunged, throwing a desperate punch at Popeye's chest. It landed with a dull thud, like striking iron. Popeye didn't flinch, countering with a lazy jab that slammed into Olbap's ribs, stealing his breath. Gasping, Olbap stumbled back, vision swimming as the silent growth to a dull roar.
Every attack left him open, and Popeye exploited it, his strikes precise, meant to teach, not destroy. Olbap's Mosquete hung useless at door of the ring—bullets couldn't dent Popeye's skin, and the bored smirk on his face made Olbap want to aim for something softer, something that'd drop that smug giant to his knees.
"Damn you, Popeye," Olbap growled, clutching his side, blood trickling from his split lip.
"Why'd you have to be built like a damn cannon? I'd kick you so hard you'd never walk straight again."
Popeye's eyes widened, a cold sweat breaking out as he caught the fire in Olbap's glare.
"Whoa, Olbap, this is just training," he said, voice tinged with unease. "No need to get… personal."
"Personal?" Olbap spat, hauling himself upright. "You're standing there looking bored while I'm choking on my own blood! Keep that up, and I'll make sure you're limping for a month."
Popeye's laugh was nervous, his hands raised defensively. "Alright, alright, you're pissed. But you're gonna have to find another way to get me back—fists ain't cutting it."
Olbap charged, feinting a jab at Popeye's ribs. At the last second, he shifted, swinging a vicious hook toward Popeye's groin. Popeye's face went white, his massive frame blurring as he leaped back, faster than Olbap thought possible.
"STOP!" Popeye yelped, retreating to the ring's far corner. "What the hell, Olbap? You said you wouldn't go there! I swear I saw my whole damn life flash by!"
Olbap collapsed against the ropes, snatching a towel to wipe blood and sweat from his face. He sank onto a stool, gulping water from a dented canteen, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat.
"How long we been at this?" he asked, voice hoarse.
"About an hour," Popeye said, wiping sweat from his brow—no blood, of course, his skin unmarked.
"Let's call it. You're tough, but you're not cracking me today."Olbap snorted, leaning back, the stool creaking under him.
"I'm weak as hell compared to you. Never gonna match that brute strength." His mind churned, defeat stinging but sparking clarity. Popeye was right—raw power wasn't his game. His strength was his mind, always had been.
"You'll get there," Popeye said, settling on a crate, his tone softening. "Your brain's your weapon, Olbap. You're not me, but you'll find a way to win—or kill me, if I let you think too long." His grin carried respect, not mockery.
The words hit like a spark, igniting memories of Olbap's old life in Miami Florida, where wits kept him alive. One job burned brightest—a moment when death was a whisper away. His boss, had crossed a Mexican cartel, costing them millions when the DEA seized their cocaine shipment.
The cartel didn't negotiate; they demanded blood or servitude. The boss at that time chose the latter: retrieve drug drops from planes in the open sea, where Coast Guard cutters prowled like wolves.
It was a suicide run, the waters crawling with patrols ready to lock them away or worse.
Olbap, barely twenty, had a plan. He tracked down an ex-Marine, a grizzled collector with a garage full of relics, including a battered submarine—small, barely seaworthy, but invisible to radar. Convincing the man to sell took every dime and lie Olbap could muster, but it worked.
That sub became their salvation, slipping kilos through the waves undetected. It turned their gang from prey to powerhouses, raking in money as the cartel's trust grew. They called it a revolution, but Jacob's greed—hoarding the profits—ended it. His betrayal got Olbap killed and his colleagues, or so he thought until Krakenport. Hope he's rotting in a cell, Olbap thought, jaw tight, the old wound still raw.
Popeye's voice cut through. "You're smiling now. Got something cooking in that head?"
Olbap's grin was sharp, predatory. "Maybe. You'll see one day—and you'll be shocked." He stood, stretching his aching limbs. "Let's eat. I'm buying."
"Free food? Hell yeah," Popeye said, already moving, his bulk shaking the floorboards.
"Free food, you say?" a voice called from the ring's exit.
Olbap and Popeye spun, startled to see Jerry leaning against the doorframe, cigarette glowing in the dim light. "Jerry? What the hell are you doing here?" Olbap asked, brow furrowing. Jerry had never mentioned the tavern or have been there once.
"Surprise," Jerry said, smirking through a cloud of smoke. "I Was in Krakenport, remembered your little dive, and thought I'd swing by. Got news—and a new job for you."
Olbap raised an eyebrow, wiping the last of the blood from his lip. "Sounds like I'm never off duty. Let's talk over food. Popeye's about to eat the damn table."
"Hey!" Popeye protested, already halfway to the tavern's main room, his stomach growling loud enough to draw laughs. "Don't leave me hanging!"
Jerry chuckled, shaking his head as Olbap jogged after Popeye. Alone for a moment, he muttered,
"Ten and sixteen years old. No wonder they act like damn fools." His smile was fond, though, laced with respect for the fire in both boys.
End of the chapter.