Day 5.
The morning light spilled into the cabin slowly, like it didn't want to wake us. I opened my eyes to a familiar weight across my chest—two, to be precise. Carina on my left, Nami on my right, both still fast asleep.
They had clung to me through out the night.
At this point, it was almost tradition.
Nami stirred as soon as I shifted, groaning softly before sliding off with minimal resistance. She stretched with quiet dignity, brushing her hair back and padding off toward the water barrel to freshen up.
Carina… was another story.
She latched tighter when I moved, like she was trying to melt into my side. Her legs curled possessively, her cheek nuzzled into my collarbone, and I swear I felt her smirk against my skin when I tried to sit up.
"Carina." I whispered, shaking her shoulder.
Nothing.
She wasn't asleep. I knew she wasn't asleep. She was doing that thing where she pretended to be a sweet, helpless little thing just to delay the inevitable.
I flicked her forehead—hard enough to make her yelp.
She finally sat up with a dramatic groan, stretching like a cat who'd had the best sleep of her life. Her hair was a mess, and her nightshirt had ridden up enough to be criminal, but she didn't seem to mind in the slightest.
She squinted at me with the betrayed look of someone who'd just been cast out of paradise.
I complained a bit.
She grinned at the complaint.
The day kicked off from there.
Nami, ever the opportunist, discovered a bag of lemons—close to rotting, soft to the touch, but still usable. She squeezed them into lemonade like a professional vendor on the Grand Line, garnishing each cup with a sprig of mint she'd found in our leftover rations.
It was good. Damn good.
Of course, Nami being Nami, she charged for it.
1,000 berries per cup.
I had seven. Seven.
When I asked for a running total, she handed me a breakdown written in absurdly elegant penmanship.
10,000 berries fro lemonade, plus 5,000 more for labor, and another 7,000 for what she called the "Cute Girl Working Fee."
My mouth twitched as we bargained.
She cut the total down to 12,000. I agreed and paid.
Then she handed me a bill.
Itemized.
She'd apparently been keeping records since the day we met.
No wonder it felt like Nami wasn't being Nami. She was going to ask for a grand total at once.
I viewed the bill.
- Emotional Distress Fee
- Cheek Kiss Fee
- Wearing Erotic Clothing Near You Fee
- Food and Water Access Fee
- Safe Usage Fee
- Breathing Same Air Fee
- Survival Fee
- Helping You Out When You Made a Scene in That Tavern Fee
- Lemonade Fee (again)
- Existing Fee
I blinked at the final number: 108 million berries. All of what I had.
Carina came and whispered few words in Nami ear as she added another thing to the bill.
"Seeing Innocent Girl's Body" Fee – 50 million each.
My mouth twitched. I looked up slowly to see Carina, standing behind Nami, whispering suggestions for more fees like a devil perched on her shoulder. She was enjoying this way too much.
They were collaborating. They'd planned this.
I wasn't being charged. I was being bled dry.
If I signed or accepted it. I was going into generational debt.
So I bargained.
They held the upper hand, two predators with glossy hair and deadly smiles.
In the end, by nightfall, we came to terms.
I would pay for every expense once we reached Syrup Village.
All lodging, meals, shopping, whatever they wanted—on me. That was the deal.
Nami nodded and smiled sweetly.
Then took 8 million from my stash as a "negotiation charge."
She turned back, paused, and grabbed 2 million more, saying round numbers were "aesthetically pleasing."
I didn't even argue.
I lay down on the floor and let the weight of the day take me.
The girls negotiated how to split the 10 million as I stared at the ceiling.
They were talking about me like I was a treasure map that had paid out once and might again.
I couldn't even find the energy to care.
---
Day 6.
I woke before the sun.
The cabin was still dark.
The only light came from the porthole, casting faint silvery streaks across the wooden floor. The girls were on my chest again—like magnets to warmth, or maybe like thieves guarding their favorite safe.
I didn't move.
They'd probably spent hours negotiating which one deserved more of the money from last night's scheme. And yet here they were, breathing softly, hair tangled, arms draped over me like I was some breathing pillow they refused to share.
I looked at them both.
Nami's face, serene in sleep, always so sharp when awake, always calculating. Carina, more relaxed, almost vulnerable like this, even though she was the one who teased the most.
I thought about charging them.
An Emotional Support Fee.
My Chest-as-a-Pillow Fee.
A Sleepless Night from Anxiety Caused by Cute Girls Fee.
But in the end, I just sighed and closed my eyes again.
---
I woke up to the girls shouting,
The sun had climbed high, and the heat was seeping into the cabin through every crack. I felt movement.
I blinked against the light and saw them peering in the distance, eyes locked on something in the distance.
A familiar silhouette.
An island.
I stood slowly, stretched, walked over, and squinted into the bright horizon.
The cliffs. The trees. The curve of the shoreline.
Syrup Village.
"Ie." I whispered.
Home.
Their eyes followed mine to the land and they smiled.
Four months. Almost four whole month it had been, since I left the island for bounty hunting.
Now, I was returning with bruises, 98 million berries, and two women who were hell bent on making me spend even more.
Nami really is the best navigator with no equal. Otherwise if it was just for my lonesome, I would be stranded in the sea for few more months.
---
We made for the shore.
The wind picked up, ruffling my hair, brushing salt across my face like a welcome back.
We jumped down from the boat as it nudged against the dock, feet hitting the ground with a soft thud that meant more than it should have.
I was back.
And almost immediately—
A shout pierced the calm.
"Kaizoku ga kite imasu!"
Pirates are coming!
I laughed a little and shouted on top of my lungs.
"Oi, Usopp."
---------------
The girls chirped ahead of me, the sound bright and sharp like wind chimes on a lazy afternoon. Their footsteps danced over the dirt path, arms swinging, hair bouncing in time with their teasing laughter. They glided down the road hand in hand as if they had walked down the road countless of times.
Behind us, grunts of effort punctuated the quiet air. Usopp and the kids were pulling the boat—our boat—now mounted on freshly carved wheels and tethered with thick rope.
In a matter of minutes, he'd found a tree, cut it down, carved wheels, and assembled a passable axle system like it was something he did every Tuesday. Maybe he did now. I wouldn't put it past him.
He was much stronger now than he was four months ago. He had grown too. Looks like he wasn't slacking off after all.
The kids followed his rhythm with loud, gleeful chants. "Heave-ho! Heave-ho!" They laughed even as they stumbled on the path, their small hands gripping the rope with all the determination of seasoned sailors. Usopp, to his credit, never asked for help. He was in control. Leading with voice breaking through the island.
The thought of helping crossed my mind.
But the thought went as soon as possible as two hands latched onto my wrists. Nami on one side, Carina on the other, dragging me forward like a prized possession being taken home after a successful raid.
They didn't even look back at the boat. The village was in sight now, and that was all that mattered.
Usopp's eyes met mine from a distance. A theatrical expression of betrayal washed over his face—pure heartbreak dramatized to perfection. I gave a shrug as an apology.
Yes, I'd chosen the girls over him. And yes, I'd do it again.
He had to grow up a bit.
The village gates stood ahead, not grand or imposing, just weather-worn and familiar. The kind that never changed, even as everything else did. And at the center of it stood the village chief's son—now a man, with his own little posse.
They were armed.
Pitchforks. A couple of old bows. One had what looked like a soup ladle tied to a stick.
Apparently Usopp's warning had been taken seriously. I was even proud that the cillagers took his warning seriously. I am so proud of him gaining trust from the villagers.
When he saw us—specifically, me flanked by two casually smug women dragging me like a war prize—he raised his hand and signaled the others to lower their weapons. Confusion bloomed across a few faces, but relief followed quickly. The tension broke like a wave receding, and slowly, the villagers began to disperse.
I waved lazily, giving them the "nothing to worry about" smile.
They believed it and went there own way.
Nami and Carina flopped down into chairs I'd scrounged up, sipping on glasses of fresh milk someone had generously provided. They drank with the sort of satisfied daintiness that made it look like they were royalty gracing the village with their presence. No complaints. No thanks. Just contented sighs.
The villagers grilled me with questions.
"Kon'ya." Tonight. I spoke. "Gochisō." Feast. and flashed out a smile not telling anything more.
The villagers left me to my own device not before giving the girls a long look.
It wasn't everyday they saw beautiful out of village girls.
I turned back toward the road.
Usopp was still pulling.
He was halfway there now, face slick with sweat, body hunched slightly from the weight of the boat, the rope digging into his palms. The kids rode the boat like it was a parade float, cheering him on as if he were about to cross the finish line of some glorious race.
He didn't complain.
Not once.
When he reached us, he looked like a man who had just fought a sea king with his bare hands. His breath came in ragged gasps. His clothes stuck to him like second skin. His eyes flicked to mine, desperate for acknowledgment.
I didn't say a word. I just smiled.
That was enough.
He followed my gaze past him, toward the small, half-rotted shack at the edge of the trees.
"Furui koya." I said.
My old shack home.
He blinked once. His expression shifted. Something between devastation and resignation passed through his eyes. Then he nodded—just once—took a breath, and saluted like a soldier being ordered back into battle.
Then he started pulling again.
The villagers watched in silence as Usopp hauled the wheeled boat past them. A few murmured. The kids clapped. Something had shifted. Their expressions weren't mocking anymore. There was something new there. Respect.
The kids cheered louder. One of them started drumming on the side of the boat with a stick, adding percussion to Usopp's long, painful symphony.
I caught Nami and Carina watching too.
Their faces were unreadable at first. Then that spark lit up.
That look.
The one where they zero in on a target.
Where they didn't say it, but you knew they were thinking it: Oh, we can mess with this one.
I didn't even look at them.
I just said, "Kare o ijimeru node wa naku, tanin o ijime nasai."
Don't bully him. Bully someone else.
They turned to me with matching expressions of wide-eyed innocence. Eyes glistening. Lips pursed in their best "we're the victims" performance.
We would never. We're sweet girls. People bully us.
I looked at them flatly, deadpan, as if they were the biggest con artists in all the seas.
The facade shattered immediately. Nami looked away first. Carina just gave me a sultry smile. I didn't blink. They both looked away and whistled.
I flicked them both on the forehead.
Usopp needed some peace.
The thought of two crafty women bullying him would do him more harm than good to him right now. Beside only I get to bully him.
I thought about warning him. Telling him to keep his guard up against the girls.
Then I shrugged.
He'd figure it out. He was just as crafty just a bit more coward.
Pushing aside all the thoughts if Usopp for the moment.
I brought the girls to the one place where they could spend money. I promised them after all.
The mansion.
I smirked a bit knowing the girls craftiness.
They would own the mansion.
Klahadore. My dear uptight actor. You are going to meet actors with even bigger skills.
You are so fucked.