BOOM.
The sound split the air like a thunderclap. The trees didn't just fall—they scattered. A line of them snapped in half as if they'd been erased from the bottom up. The blast left behind a crater nearly five meters wide, still hissing with heat. Smoke rose in thick plumes, grey streaked with orange, like the sky was choking on ash.
Even from a safe distance, I could feel the heat prickling my skin. The earth around the impact site shimmered and buckled, the ground itself warped by the intensity. The trees nearest to the crater had their trunks half-vaporized—what was left of them smoldered quietly, crackling like campfire wood. The grass was gone, scorched away to blackened dirt. It smelled like metal, ash, and glory.
I grinned. This was exactly what I wanted.
It had taken Usopp hours to craft this single grenade—care, precision, and a dozen failed prototypes—but the result was something close to art. Destruction with structure. Chaos with control. My favorite kind.
I jumped into the crater. My sandals gave out instantly, the rubber melting and fusing to my feet. The ground was still molten in places, little rivulets of glowing thermite burrowing through stone like magma veins. My eye stung from the smoke, vision flickering red for a moment as I let the burn pass over me. The heat kissed my skin with knives, but I didn't pull back.
The thermite was still active, doing its job. It ate through metal, bone and skin alike. I had to feel it. I had to know its power.
When I stepped out of the crater, the soles of my sandals were left behind, fused into my skin. My skin was blistering, sizzling in places where molten particles had clung. My eye had turned dark with strain, burning faintly. Still, I didn't flinch.
Usopp came sprinting across the clearing, shouting something panicked. He had a bucket of water in one hand, a towel draped over his shoulder, his face twisted in concern.
But I raised a hand before he could get closer. No need for that.
I stood still. Focused. The blood inside me throbbed like a slow drumbeat, and I felt the heat from the inside out. My skin bubbled, then began to mend. Charred flesh peeled away, revealing new layers beneath, smooth and pale. My eyes cooled, the red fading. I exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that only comes after walking through fire. The melted sandals slipped off my feet like discarded shells.
I was whole again. Mostly.
That's when I realized I had no spare clothes.
The shirt was barely hanging on, scorched at the edges. My pants weren't much better—burned through in multiple places, especially in areas that really didn't need extra ventilation. I pulled off what was left of the shirt and used it to wrap around the worst of the damage on my pants. It didn't help much.
I looked like a prince exiled by fire—barefoot, skin gleaming like I'd just walked through a sauna run by demons. My body looked fresh, too fresh—like I'd just stepped out of a luxury bathhouse, not a crater made by explosive thermite.
The sun was low now, dangling above the horizon, bleeding its last warmth over the village. In an hour or two, it'd be dark. There wasn't much left to do today—no fishing, no building. Usopp and I agreed, silently, to start again tomorrow.
We walked the dirt path side by side until it split near the village outskirts. Usopp waved, heading toward his home with a skip still in his step. I turned toward the shack, feeling the evening breeze—and instantly questioning whether the air had gotten colder or if my pants had just failed entirely.
As I approached, I spotted them—five figures, sprawled lazily on the sun-dried futons I'd left outside. Three smaller ones with boundless energy. Two taller ones with far too much sass.
The kids: Ninjin, Tamanegi, and Piiman. And with them, Nami and Carina.
The kids were the first to react, bursting into laughter as soon as they saw me. My fashion disaster needed no explanation.
Ninjin, always the sharpest of the trio, tilted his head and asked if I was taking them with me tomorrow. He didn't need much context. He always was the most perceptive of the three. The others piled on the question before I could even answer, eyes wide with anticipation. They didn't want to be left behind—not from an adventure, not from anything. Especially not when the adults were having fun.
Nami's laughter joined theirs, soft and delighted. Carina gave a low whistle, clearly amused by my state. I probably deserved it. I waved at them, smirking despite myself, and opened the door to the shack.
Before I could close it behind me, they all followed.
All of them.
"Kigae." I said, pointedly.
Changing clothes. That should've been enough of a hint.
The kids, bless them, burst into laughter again and ran out without complaint. Nami turned to follow them, but Carina caught her by the wrist and yanked her back in, grinning like the cat who stole the whole damn pantry. Nami gave me a helpless shrug, caught somewhere between scandal and resignation.
I raised an eyebrow at Carina. She just gave me that devil-may-care smile. Mischief incarnate.
Fine.
I stripped, giving the girl with a smile a show. Carina gave another whistle, far louder this time, and Nami—ever the paradox—covered her eyes but peeked between her fingers anyway.
I didn't hurry. But I didn't indulge either. I changed. Shirt. Underwear. Pants. Done.
As I stepped out, the door creaked open wide, revealing three curious kids pressed against it, their ears straining and faces smug. The second I emerged, they let out synchronized whistles, like tiny, sarcastic guards reviewing a parade.
I gave each of them a knuckle to the head, light enough to sting. They clutched their heads and gave me mock glares—silent accusations that I'd changed. That I wasn't the same guy who used to chase them with wooden swords.
Maybe they were right.
I ruffled their hair in apology.
Carina and Nami followed behind, stepping into the fading sun. Carina raised both hands, index fingers up, and made a sizing gesture. I rolled my eyes, but my smirk betrayed me.
They came bearing an invitation. Dinner at the mansion. An impromptu thing, apparently. Kaya wanted to celebrate my return.
I nodded. There was no real reason to say no.
As the group turned back toward the road, the sky shifted above us—deepening into twilight, the first stars barely visible.
I looked at the girls, walking just beside me, arms in arms, eyes scanning me.
I just followed the road, letting the night take its shape.
---------------
Klahadore was the first one to greet us at the mansion gates.
He stood straight-backed, hands folded neatly in front, the perfect butler image from head to toe. Polished shoes, starched cuffs, not a single thread out of place. But I saw the flicker. It was brief—barely a twitch in his eye—but it was there. That unmistakable flash of recognition and irritation. He remembered me, and not fondly.
I smirked.
It was easy to poke the cracks in him. I made sure to step the wrong way down the hall. Just slightly. Turned the wrong corner once. Paused too long in doorways. Small things—tiny, harmless infractions—but they dug under his skin like splinters. Every time I did, I caught him glancing.
I only smiled back. Broad. Toothy.
To his credit, the actor in him stayed strong. His tone never broke. His pace and face never faltered, aside from the normal irritation look. He guided us down the long corridor with mechanical grace, leading our trio—me, Nami, and Carina—toward the dining hall like it was just another Tuesday evening. But I could feel the tension in the way he walked.
By the time we stepped into the dining room, I was half-convinced he'd dig a pitfall trap just to be rid of me.
Kaya sat at the head of the long table, dressed in pale blue with her hair pinned up in a quiet elegance. She looked better—stronger than I remembered. Still delicate, still wrapped in that paper-thin grace, but steadier somehow. Like life had started to return to her limbs.
Nami and Carina bowed slightly, their gestures subtle but respectful. I didn't bow. Instead, I reached into the inner pocket of my coat and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped parcel. Without a word, I handed it to Merry, who stood at Kaya's right. His eyes flicked down at the package, then back to me with a question. I nodded.
He passed it to Kaya.
She opened it slowly, delicately, like it might hold something fragile. In a way, it did.
A necklace lay inside. Silver-hued with streaks of darker metal, shaped like a marlin in full leap. The fish curved around itself, streamlined and fierce, yet elegant. The tip of the marlin's bill—razor sharp in real life—had been carefully blunted, covered with a custom-made cap shaped like a splash of water. Took nearly as long to design that safety cap as the rest of the pendant.
She held it up, eyes glinting with recognition. It wasn't just a necklace. It was Usopp's second gift. The first had always been his stories—wild, winding tales spun from thin air and daydreams. This was solid. Real. Forged by hand.
Usopp and I had spent a whole afternoon crafting it before we turned to the grenade project. Melting down scrap metal, molding, carving, polishing. His hands had trembled at first. Then steadied. There was something pure in the way he worked—focused, intentional. Every curve in the marlin's body, every etched scale, was made with Kaya in mind.
Kaya knew who it was from. She whispered his name. Not loudly. Just a breath. But we all heard it.
"Usopp…"
Merry gave me a sideways glance, his face unreadable, but said nothing. He couldn't not when Kaya was happy and recovering. Her face had gotten a glow from the day I returned from the waters.
Nami and Carina looked at me. They didn't say a word, but the message in their eyes was clear. They'd only known Usopp for a day, but even they could tell he wasn't a born romantic. That necklace had my fingerprints all over it.
I could see it in the amused glint in Carina's eye, the warm curve at the corner of Nami's mouth. I shrugged. What could I say? I saw a story that needed finishing, and I finished it. Beside Usopp was my boy. I had to teach him what i know.
Kaya fastened the necklace around her neck with Merry's help. The marlin gleamed softly against her collarbone. It looked right there. Like it belonged.
The tip or the beak of the marlin had a cover to prevent harm to Kaya. We had spent as much time on creating it as we did making the necklace. It wouldn't come easily not without a human hand.
Seeing Kaya smile with the necklace on her neck.
I took my seat opposite her. The girls sat beside me—Nami to my left, Carina to my right—as the dining staff began to serve the dishes.
Kaya asked about my travels, her tone light but curious. Before I could answer, I glanced at Carina.
She grinned.
It was a mistake.
Carina leaned forward with the air of a seasoned bard and launched into a retelling so dramatic I barely recognized my own story. Her voice danced across the room with flair and rhythm, each tale more absurd than the last—me fighting sea kings barehanded, leading a crew of exiled chefs through a storm, surviving a sky-island fall with nothing but a pillow.
I didn't interrupt. I didn't correct her.
But I did facepalm hard enough for my elbow to knock into my plate.
Kaya looked stunned. Nami was doubled over laughing, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. Even the usually composed Merry had to turn away briefly, shoulders twitching.
I began eating in silence.
The stew came first—hearty, rich, packed with cuts of fresh tuna I'd delivered to the mansion just yesterday. It was good, really good, but it was the next dish that stopped me in my tracks.
Chicken.
Golden. Crisp. Deep-fried with a peppery crust. Another plate with chicken in curry, laid over steaming white rice. I stared for a moment longer than I should have. My hands moved before my thoughts did.
I took the first bite, and my entire soul sighed.
Tender, juicy meat that tore apart with a whisper of pressure. Crispy skin that crackled between my teeth. The curry had just enough spice to kick, the rice soaking in every drop of flavor. My mouth burned in the best way.
God, I missed this. Not just food. This food. The rarest kind in this part of the world.
Chicken.
People in this sea didn't raise them. Expensive to keep. And easy to die in the island. Even in towns we stopped through, it was easier to find a bag of rubies than a fresh chicken drumstick. A chicken cost more than twenty kilos of the finest fish, and I'd eaten enough sea meat to last a lifetime.
But this? This was divine.
I gave Merry a very serious thumbs up. He looked faintly amused, faintly smug. I wasn't sure who made this, but someone in that kitchen deserved a medal.
Kaya chuckled as she watched me tear into the food like a man possessed. She didn't mock me. Just smiled knowingly.
She remembered. Chicken was my favorite.
Even Nami and Carina paused their laughter to focus on their food, slowly realizing the feast in front of them wasn't just formality. The plates were works of art and their favorite money. A mix of village-grown vegetables, pickled sides, sauces with depth. Everything was balanced, flavored with care. If Carina had been exaggerating earlier, the food now was making her almost humble.
Almost.
Kaya leaned back slightly, satisfied and relaxed. Her hand touched the marlin at her chest once more. A subtle, absentminded gesture. But telling.
There was peace in the room now. The kind that only comes after good food, shared laughter, and warm light.
The chandeliers above gave a soft, gold glow. Outside, the sky had gone indigo, and fireflies flitted past the tall windows. The mansion creaked softly in its bones, but stood firm, weathered and proud.
This wasn't home. But it felt good to be here.
As the night wore on, the plates were cleared. Tea was served. The kids would be asleep by now. Usopp, too, probably dreaming of things he could build with his new tools or maybe a girl so gentle he would smile throughout the night. The world, for once, felt still.
Carina whispered something sarcastic to Nami, who rolled her eyes and flicked her on the forehead. Kaya was speaking quietly to Merry. I just sat there, content, sipping tea and licking the last hint of chicken grease from my fingers.
I raised my cup of tea as the girls followed. The cup clicked as we drank.