Chapter 3: Paradise, and the Price of a Drink
Nami had become Ian's navigator, his accountant, and his most shrewdly efficient subordinate. The brilliant cartographer who, in another timeline, would have charted a course for a rubber-man's dream, had been intercepted. Her destiny was rerouted, her talents now firmly anchored to the rising star of the Navy's most unorthodox officer.
"Captain Ian," Nami began, her voice all business as she consulted a clipboard. "The twenty pirate ships from the Crick Pirates' fleet have been fully secured. Over seven hundred pirates have been neutralized. The seized assets and treasure total approximately..."
Ian held up a hand, cutting her off. His face was a masterpiece of confused innocence. "Wait. Hold on. What was that last part? Treasure?"
A flicker of understanding passed between them, quicker than a heartbeat. Nami didn't even blink. She smoothly flipped a page on her clipboard as if correcting a simple clerical error.
"My apologies, Captain. A slip of the tongue. The Crick Pirates are infamously known as the most impoverished crew to ever disgrace the East Blue."
"There was no treasure," she stated, her voice clear and definitive for the benefit of the nearby Marines. "Only a horde of vicious criminals, all of whom were valiantly subdued by Captain Ian in a fiercely contested battle."
Ian nodded slowly, his expression shifting into one of somber reflection. He placed a hand over his heart, the very picture of a weary warrior. "Ah, yes. A truly harrowing and desperate struggle," he sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of fabricated memory. "I barely made it out with my life."
He then turned to the platoon of Marines standing at rigid attention, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. "You see?" Ian barked, his tone shifting to one of theatrical sternness. "This is the standard! Learn from Petty Officer Nami! Her efficiency! Her attention to detail! Her... interpretive reporting skills! This is what excellence looks like!"
He began to pace in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back. "Now, because your formation on the jog here was sloppier than a Baratie chef's stew, you have ten minutes to run back to the harbor. Anyone who is late will find themselves swimming back to the branch. And since you all move with the urgency of a sedated seagull, I'll have to wait around just to supervise the deck-swabbing."
He stopped and glared at them, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Have any of you ever even seen the training grounds at three in the morning? No? I didn't think so. Your lack of dedication is physically painful. We're doing extra drills tonight! Furthermore, send a detail to bag and tag the 'sleeping' Tyrant of the East Blue. The rest of you... why are you still here? MOVE!"
The effect was instantaneous. Like a flock of startled birds, the Marines scrambled into a frantic, panicked sprint, their boots pounding against the cobblestones. At Branch 16, Ian's word was not just law; it was a chaotic, unpredictable force of nature that no one dared to question.
As the last Marine vanished around a corner, the stern mask melted away. "Let's head back, Nami," Ian said, his voice returning to its normal, casual cadence as he strolled away. "And do remember to securely log today's... modest operational budget... into my private warehouse. For accounting purposes, of course."
"Understood, Captain Ian!" Nami replied, snapping a sharp, perfect salute.
She watched his retreating back—the confident set of his shoulders, the way his white justice jacket seemed to wear him more than he wore it. A warmth crept up her neck, painting her cheeks a soft rose. She bit her lower lip, her sharp, intelligent eyes now clouded with a potent mix of sheer admiration and a more personal, flustered affection.
"A training ground at three in the morning?" she whispered to the empty street, her voice barely a breath. "He hasn't seen that... At three in the morning, he's in my..." She trailed off, the rest of the sentence—my navigational charts, the ones I'm meticulously updating for him—dying in her throat, replaced by the fluttering in her chest.
Ian, whose enhanced hearing could pinpoint a pin drop in a storm, caught every syllable of her muttering. He didn't turn around, didn't break his stride. But a slow, knowing smile spread across his face, and he began to hum a jaunty, victorious little tune, the sound swallowed by the warm East Blue breeze.
This was his East Blue. This was his paradise.
End of Chapter