"Merry." I said with a short nod.
The lamb-headed butler—dignified as ever in posture, if slightly surprised in the eyes—returned the gesture. He stood by the gate with a measured calm, but I caught the faint crease of his brows as his gaze flicked toward the two women at my side. Neither of us spoke. Whatever questions circled his mind, he respectfully left unspoken.
We entered the garden, boots brushing dew from the grass, the gravel crunching faintly beneath our feet. Flowers bloomed in soft bursts of color along the path, carefully maintained. The scent of lilies and trimmed hedges hung in the air like memory.
The girls, for once, were quiet.
They weren't just admiring the view—they were assessing it. I could see it in the subtle flicks of their eyes, the slight lean of their necks. Nami's gaze lingered on the windows—counting locks, perhaps. Carina's eyes skimmed the marble statues like they were already being weighed for market value.
Merry noticed too. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. If he was alarmed, he buried it behind the impeccable professionalism he always carried like a second skin. After all, I had brought them. That was all the reason he needed to keep his mouth shut—for now.
I had earned that much trust from him, after all.
The mansion doors creaked open under his hand, revealing the same grand interior I remembered. Ornate paintings lined the walls, still-life bowls of fruit that had never aged. The statues—imported, expensive—stood proudly in their corners like silent sentries. The chandeliers above caught the fading sun and threw golden reflections across the polished floor.
Merry ascended silently, leaving us at the door.
I stayed still waiting. Nami and Carina didn't. They moved. Their steps taking them everywhere.
I heard the barely-there shuffling of feet as they drifted apart, gravitating toward their respective points of interest—Nami to the frames, Carina to the carved figurines on the mantle. I gave a sharp cough.
They stopped mid-motion, like students caught sneaking candy during class. Then, without a word, they returned to my side, standing behind me like perfect little angels.
I just waited.
I heard footsteps. Merry.
Then a lighter footstep. Slower. Fragile. Fading.
Kaya.
She descended carefully, each step measured, one hand brushing the railing. She looked thinner than I remembered. Fragile, almost. Her white dress hung off her frame like it was stitched for a different girl. Her face was pale, her eyes ringed with a quiet weariness that wasn't there before.
My gut twisted.
She had always been gentle, always a little sickly. But not this.
She'd been worried.
She hadn't just missed me—she'd suffered for it.
I frowned a little. Usopp should have kept her company. I had told him too. Merry and I had an understanding that he would leave Usopp and Kaya alone if Kaya was happy.
I had an inkling as to why that didn't happened.
Klahadore.
From the upper staircase, I could see the flick of his glasses and cat like eyes.
That bastard. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. His arms were folded, mouth in a thin line. Standing in the shadows like a cat waiting to pounce.
Then he stepped back and vanished into the hallway above.
He was accelerating his plan. Of course he was. And from the weak look on Kaya's face, he'd likely been turning the screw tighter every day I'd been gone. She smiled as she saw me, but there was a hollowness to it even with all the happiness there was.
I needed to change that.
"Kaya." I said softly, stepping toward her. "Daietto-chū?"
On a diet?
Her lips curled at that. It was weak, but real.
She laughed gently and nodded. "Hai, Lovecraft-san."
I reached out and ruffled her hair like I used to. She tilted her head forward, welcoming the gesture.
From under my arm, I produced the wrapped bundle I'd brought for her. Merry took it with his usual efficiency.
He placed it on the table, unwrapping the ribbon carefully, like the paper might be made of glass.
Books.
Dozens of them—stacked neatly, bound in different covers and languages. Medical texts, short story collections, Mental Health, the latest in fashion magazines from across the sea. Every genre. Every category. A curated library for a girl stuck in a golden cage.
Kaya reached out and took one of the medical books from the pile, her fingers tracing the edges of the cover. She held it like it was a treasure. Something that reminded her she wasn't useless. That she could still learn, still contribute.
"Arigatō, Lovecraft-san." she whispered.
I ruffled her hair again, firmer this time. She laughed—more freely now.
Turning to Merry, I handed him a smaller box, plainly wrapped.
He took it and opened it quietly, inspecting the contents with careful hands.
A lamb-print bowtie. Soft gray silk, a gentle nod to his nickname.
And beneath it—a gun.
A sleek, compact pistol. Easy to hide, fast to draw. Not much stopping power, but just enough to change a conversation.
His eyes flicked up to mine.
I nodded once. Firmly.
Without hesitation, he tucked the weapon hidden in gift wrapper into the folds of his coat and adjusted the bowtie at his collar. He wore it with pride. A proper part of the butler's uniform now—formal, elegant.
Kaya peeked toward the box, curiosity flickering, but Merry hid it in time. She pouted in my direction, clearly hoping for some inside information.
I pressed a finger to her cheek, squishing it gently until she giggled. A distraction. She laughed again, and I saw the color in her face return.
Not much. But enough.
Before she could ask more, I turned and gestured toward the girls, who had been silently watching.
I explained that they helped me in my trip. And that I brought them here to buy goods. And it would be very helpful if she could contact her ships that next time they brought the stuff the girls wanted.
Kaya blinked.
Then smiled.
She didn't even hesitate.
Her hands clasped together at her chest, eyes shining in a way I hadn't seen in a long time. She nodded, almost too quickly. "Hai."
It wasn't the shopping or the responsibility that excited her.
It was the idea of companionship. Two more people in this giant, echoing house. Two more voices. Two more reasons to come down the stairs in the morning.
Loneliness had been eating at her. I saw it in her posture, her eyes, the way she clung to that medical book like it was more than paper.
Klahadore could obstruct Usopp on the basis that he was a man but I would like to see in what basis he would obstruct the girls from taking care of Kaya.
Nami and Carina exchanged a glance—surprised, maybe, at the sudden sincerity. They had come here on my behalf to spend money. Now they were being offered tea and friendship by a fragile girl who had no idea who she was inviting in.
For a second, they both softened.
Just a little.
They were soft at heart after all.
And maybe that's all Kaya needed. A pause. A pocket of peace before the storm came crashing through the walls.
I stood back and watched them all—Merry straightening his new tie, Kaya talking with the girls, the girls circling her like curious foxes circling a lone deer.
And somewhere in the upper floor, in the quiet shadow of a fading hallway, the cat waited.
But for now, in this quiet room full of paper and silk and stolen glances—
She smiled again. Her cheeks gaining an pink glow.
--------------
Kaya loved the thief duo.
There was no rivalry, no jealousy in her eyes when she looked at them. It wasn't their charm, or their clothes, or the way they glided through conversation with the ease of women used to getting what they wanted.
No, Kaya envied something much simpler. She envied their freedom.
She listened with rapt attention as Nami and Carina described their time out on the open seas. She wasn't focused on the danger, or the glamour—they didn't appeal to her. What she craved, what made her sit a little straighter in her chair, was the idea of choice. Of not asking for permission. Of doing what she liked not restricted by anything.
The sea, to Kaya, was more than a place. It was a dream.
And the girls noticed.
Nami's smile faltered slightly when Kaya asked, almost shyly, what the wind sounded like at midnight when the ship was still. Carina, who usually responded to every compliment with a wink or a joke, only gave a quiet, 'It sounds like snoring.'
Kaya nodded, her eyes down, hiding the soft ache that pulled at her mouth.
The girls didn't mock or tease. They looked at that face so full of longing. And maybe in a strange way, they envied her too. Kaya had the innocence to her, they girls knew they could never have. Her softness not yet touched by betrayal or life. They envied that she had people who would care for her. The girls envied Kaya for what she had and Kaya envied the girls for what she didn't have.
Merry had served the tea himself, a small tray of delicate porcelain cups clinking faintly as he set them down. There were warm biscuits, nut-filled pastries, slices of candied fruit. Every piece precisely arranged. Then, with his usual quiet dignity, he bowed and excused himself from the room to give them space.
But he didn't go far.
He found me by the doorway. He took out the gun still wrapped. He folded the wrapping paper as he brought the gun to my sight.
His fingers brushed the cool metal. Light. Compact. Elegant.
"Klahadore." I spoke.
That was all I needed to say.
He looked up at me, his eyes dark with understanding. Before he could ask anything—about anything—I turned away.
"Atode kimasu," I said to Kaya as I passed the sitting room. I'll come later.
Her smile dimmed. Her shoulders fell a little, barely noticeable unless you were looking. She nodded anyway. I ruffled her hair as I turned to the girls.
"Taizai suru."
Stay.
They nodded, mouths full of snacks, already halfway through a plate of flaky pastries. I reached out, plucked a biscuit from the tray without breaking stride, and walked off to the sound of their light chatter.
Merry tried to stop me—questions clearly pressing against the edge of his lips—but I turned and stared at him.
He stepped back.
I walked down the garden path, its stones still warm underfoot from the day's sun. The trees swayed faintly in the breeze, their shadows stretching long and crooked. The mansion behind me began to fade from sight, replaced by the worn contours of familiarity.
My old shack.
It was still standing, somehow. A little warped, a little more crooked than I remembered, but it was there. Real. Anchoring.
Usopp was kneeling in front of the shack with the kids, a watering can tilted in his hand as he carefully poured into a bed of flowers I had left to grow before my departure.
The kids were whispering around the boat, curiosity getting the better of them. The lock on the storage box had clearly been tampered with—nothing serious, nothing before just enough to suggest they'd tried. And then stopped. Probably had a debate among themselves and decided to wait.
I stepped forward and rapped my knuckles gently on each of their heads.
A light punishment.
They flinched, grinned, and fell into line.
I sighed and opened the lock myself. The scent of paper, wood, and sealed cloth wafted out. I gestured for them to follow, and we entered together.
The inside was cramped and familiar. Wooden crates, tied bundles, wrapped boxes.
One by one, I began pulling them out.
The kids watched in wide-eyed silence, fingers twitching with anticipation.
I handed out the gifts.
Ninjin's bundle held a carved wooden sword and a small compass—simple, sturdy, with a loop of string to hang around his neck. His eyes sparkled as he held both, lifting the compass high and declaring himself the navigator of their crew.
Tamanegi's gift was food. Dried meats, sweetened fruits, little seasoning pouches, and a cookbook filled with colorful illustrations. He didn't wait. He tore open the first packet, stuffed a handful into his mouth, and sank back with a groan of joy, crumbs falling onto the floor.
Piiman's box revealed a slingshot—sleek, durable—and a wrapped bundle of art supplies. Crayons, drawing paper, colored chalks. He blinked. Then smiled. Then immediately began sketching Usopp on the wall using a purple crayon.
Usopp smiled, watching the chaos unfold.
But he noticed something.
I hadn't given him anything.
He tried to hide it, but the look flickered across his face. I saw it. Disappointment. A little hurt. A quiet kind of rejection he wasn't used to anymore.
"Atode." I said gently.
Later.
He gave me a glance and smiled, but he lingered as the kids tore wrapping paper apart like wild animals. He stayed through the noise, even as they ran around in circles, testing out their new roles—navigator, cook, sharpshooter.
Ninjin swung his wooden sword, the compass bouncing wildly around his neck, shouting pirate commands in a cracked voice.
Tamanegi hoarded his food, clutching it like a treasure chest, shooting me suspicious glances after I stole a chip from one of his open packets.
I ruffled his hair and took another.
He began to hide his food after that.
I laughed.
Piiman was the loudest, chasing Ninjin around with the slingshot, occasionally stopping to draw new "crew tattoos" on their arms with chalk and crayons.
Eventually, Usopp joined them, guiding Ninjin's grip on the sword, helping Piiman with aim, offering tips he clearly learned the hard way. It was quiet, sweet. A small echo of what life might have looked like if we'd all grown up with more peace.
I sat on the porch and munched on the stolen snacks, watching the kids burn themselves out with joy.
Later, the kids returned, panting, cheeks flushed red.
Usopp brought up the rear, sweat sticking to his shirt, but smiling.
I handed out water and the last of the snacks. They ate without stopping, wolfing it all down between shallow breaths.
I watched them with a quiet heart.
When they finished, I reached into the boat and pulled out a fishing rod.
Their eyes lit up.
They ran off without a word, shouting to each other, grabbing their own rods from wherever they'd stashed them. Nets. Bait. Buckets. A storm of energy.
I stood and walked down the old path to our fishing spot.
The grass had grown suggesting they had fewer fishing trips. It was going to change now that I am here.
The breeze was cooler by the water, brushing the edge of my coat. I closed my eyes and breathed it in—the faint scent of salt, the sound of insects waking for the night.
Behind me, the kids came running.
Usopp followed, slower now, but steady.
He had grown a lot more mature.