Gojo glanced at his clenched fist with wry amusement. The tangible sensation of his cursed energy gradually returning was so absurdly fortunate that it sent him into a fit of unrestrained laughter in the moonlit silence. "It's almost dawn," he mused aloud, his voice laced with dark humor. "Guess I should wash up."
Without hesitation, he launched himself off the deck and into the churning water below, utterly indifferent to whatever horrors—sharks, sea monsters, or worse—might lurk beneath the surface. The frigid waves swallowed him whole as he scrubbed away the grime and blood clinging to his clothes and skin, emerging moments later with the metallic stench of battle rinsed from his body.
"Can't stay here," he muttered, wringing out his sleeve. "Too suspicious."
A sharp bang cut through his thoughts. His head snapped toward the sound, his piercing gaze locking onto a massive, weathered door deeper within the ship's shadowy interior.
BANG!
One powerful kick shattered the door's hinges, revealing a grim tableau: a group of terrified women bound and gagged, their wide eyes brimming with tears as they writhed against their restraints. The air was thick with the acrid scent of fear.
"Relax, ladies," Gojo drawled, his tone deliberately smooth. "I'm not here to hurt you. The pirates are gone—consider this your lucky day."
Though their mouths were still sealed, their frantic nods spoke volumes.
As the ropes fell away, the women gasped for air, their voices trembling with desperate gratitude. "Th-Thank you, sir… Thank you!" They sobbed, scrambling toward the exit on unsteady legs.
The first to reach the deck froze—then screamed.
"AARRGGHH!"
Her shriek tore through the dawn as she stumbled back, her hands slipping in a slick pool of crimson. The deck was a charnel house, littered with the mangled corpses of their former captors. The sheer brutality of the scene was too much; her knees buckled, and she collapsed, unconscious. The others recoiled in horror, their faces draining of color at the grotesque display.
Gojo strolled forward, hands tucked lazily in his pockets. "What's wrong?" He asked, his voice deceptively light. "Feeling sorry for the men who kidnapped you?"
One woman, though trembling, met his gaze with a spark of defiance. "We don't mourn them," she spat. "But this… this is a massacre. The navy didn't do this. Did you—?"
Gojo exhaled sharply, cutting her off. "Really? That's your takeaway?" He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Whether I killed them or not doesn't change the fact that you're free."
"Enough talking—let's go!" Another woman hissed, hauling their unconscious companion toward the gangplank. "We need the marines—now!"
Gojo watched them flee, their figures shrinking into the distance, their clothes stained with the blood of the very men who had imprisoned them. With a careless shrug, he vaulted over the ship's railing and landed lightly on the shore below.
Dawn broke in earnest, the horizon ablaze with molten gold. A crisp salt-laced breeze carried the distant chirping of seabirds, the serene soundtrack at odds with the growl that rumbled in Gojo's throat as he stirred.
"Morning already?" A languid yawn escaped his lips as he stretched his arms overhead. "Time to secure proper lodging, fresh clothes, and a decent meal." His smirk widened as he patted the bulging sack of stolen pirate loot at his hip, the weight of his fortune reassuring against his palm.
"Wait!" His laughter erupted suddenly, rich and unrestrained. "That actually happened? Marvelous." He shook his head in amusement before reaching for his signature accessories. "Can't forget these - my blindfold and shades. Wouldn't do to let these mesmerizing eyes roam free, might accidentally steal every heart in town." His chuckle carried a playful arrogance as he secured the fabric over his eyes.
Clad in his tattered garments, he meandered through the bustling streets until spotting a likely informant - a gentleman in a weathered brown trench coat. "Pardon me," Gojo called out, his tone deliberately charming. "Might you direct me to the nearest reputable hotel?"
The man gestured down the thoroughfare. "See that main road? Take the right fork and continue straight - you'll find the Grand Marina about two blocks down." His voice carried the measured cadence of a local.
Gojo grasped the man's hand with practiced warmth. "Much obliged, good sir."
"Safe travels," the man replied, withdrawing his hand with a polite nod before continuing on his way.
Following the given directions precisely, Gojo soon found himself before an imposing hotel facade. "Owe those incompetent brigands a debt of gratitude, it seems," he mused, fingers drumming against his money pouch as he approached the entrance.
A blue-suited doorman swung the heavy oak door open with practiced grace. "Welcome, sir."
"Magnificent," Gojo breathed as he executed a theatrical spin, taking in the opulent lobby from every angle. The grand space commanded attention - soaring ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, walls displaying museum-quality artwork, and sumptuous furnishings arranged with meticulous care. Patrons paused mid-conversation to stare at his eccentric display.
A blonde receptionist in her early thirties adjusted her glasses nervously as he approached. "G-Good afternoon, sir. How may we assist you today?" Her professional smile faltered slightly as his... distinctive aroma reached her nostrils, though she maintained admirable composure.
"Monthly accommodation, if you please," he stated crisply.
"Certainly. Our premier suites are available for 80,000 berries per month."
Gojo made a show of counting out the substantial sum. "There we are - exact payment."
"Very good, sir. Just need you to complete our registry." She slid the ledger across the polished mahogany counter.
"Of course." He scrawled his name with a flourish before accepting the ornate key to his third-floor suite. The whispered murmurs of staff and guests followed him - none could fathom how this disheveled stranger moved so boldly with such wealth in these dangerous times.
"Suspicious character," someone muttered behind cupped hands.
After a brief excursion to procure proper attire, Gojo returned to his new temporary residence. He made straight for the marble-clad bathroom, turning the gold-plated faucets to release a steaming cascade. As the water sluiced over his toned physique, his mind turned to more pressing matters.
"Need intelligence," he murmured, working fragrant soap into his skin. "The World Government's structure, Marine operations, pirate factions - all crucial knowledge." The suds swirled down the drain as he continued his internal deliberation. "The path ahead remains unclear - Marine enlistment? Bounty hunting? Or perhaps..." His fist clenched beneath the spray. "Carving my own legend upon these treacherous seas."
"Now, what to do?" Gojo mused aloud, water droplets tracing paths down his sculpted torso as he contemplated his next move. "The marines won't simply overlook last night's... incident. An investigation is inevitable, and I must maintain discretion while my cursed energy continues its gradual restoration."
With a decisive motion, he turned off the shower's golden faucets and reached for a plush towel. "Priorities first," he murmured, methodically drying himself. "A proper meal to fuel my body, followed by strategic information gathering." His decision made, he dressed with deliberate care - crisp white linen shirt and trousers, a gleaming golden chain resting against his collarbone, an ornate bracelet encircling his wrist, and finally, the signature black blindfold secured over his piercing eyes. "Perfect."
Stepping into the corridor, he moved with effortless grace, his spiked white hair and concealed gaze creating an aura of enigmatic power that turned heads as he passed.
"Is that... a model or something?"
"Don't be rude! Maybe he's visually impaired!"
All eyes followed his confident stride as he entered an upscale restaurant, where he indulged in an extravagant meal before beginning his reconnaissance. The village buzzed with tension - clearly, word of the previous night's events had spread like wildfire through the sobering populace.
He reasoned the rescued women or local villagers would have alerted the marines by now, but his obscured features provided convenient anonymity should he encounter any witnesses.
Fragments of conversation reached his keen ears:
"Pirate raids have increased threefold this season!"
"Who could have imagined Foosha Village housed someone capable of annihilating the entire Bazzarell crew?"
"When will the marines finally curb these maritime threats?"
Gojo's posture straightened imperceptibly at the village's name. "F-Foosha Village?" He whispered, hands buried in his pockets. "Curious... Not a single smartphone in sight." His brow furrowed beneath the fabric. "I'll need communication technology - a way to monitor developments."
His lips quivered in amusement. "The real challenge will be acquiring one. Well, persistent inquiry never fails, hehe."
As twilight painted the sky in violet hues, Gojo's exploration yielded a crucial discovery - this world's technology diverged dramatically from his own. Instead of cellular devices, the inhabitants used peculiar snail-like creatures called Den-Den Mushi for communication.
"Bizarre," he muttered, equal parts fascinated and perplexed.
A sudden wave of nostalgia tightened his throat. "Yuta... Yuji... Megumi... Kugisaki..." The names slipped out like a prayer, his voice thick with emotion. "I... I miss you all." A single traitorous tear escaped the blindfold's confines. "But perhaps I'll carve a new path here as... whatever fate demands."
His clenched fist trembled with pent-up energy, though his smirk never wavered. "To reclaim my position as the strongest, I must first restore my cursed techniques to their peak." The anticipation sent electricity coursing through his veins. "Once my Domain Expansion is fully operational... let's see how these so-called pirates and marines measure up."