"Don't worry, Pedro." I leaned back slightly, my tone light, almost reassuring. "I'm not going to force you to hand over the Vivre Card." For a fleeting moment, hope flickered across his face—only for it to freeze when I continued.
"It's not as though I lack the means to find Zunesha on my own. It would simply take a bit more effort on my end." Though the words were directed at Pedro, my gaze had already shifted.
Zepo.
The older mink stiffened as my eyes settled on him, sharp and knowing. In that instant, Pedro understood. His blood ran cold as realization struck—I knew. Not just the secret, not just Zou, but who among them carried the Vivre Card pointing back to the walking island itself.
Pedro's fur was already soaked through with sweat, his heart hammering violently, but he forced himself to step forward.
"If you truly mean us no harm," he said, voice tight yet resolute, "then please… do not ask us to reveal Zou's location. We would rather die than betray that secret. Especially to someone who knows of the poneglyph on Zou."
I watched him carefully. The resolve in his eyes was genuine. Admirable, even. But also… naïve. I shook my head slowly.
"Pedro," I said calmly, "whether you choose to sacrifice yourselves or not wouldn't actually change much. As long as the Vivre Card exists, it would function just as well in my hands as it does in yours."
His pupils shrank. Still, I had no intention of forcing the issue. I could already see it—Pedro's subtle hand signals, the barely perceptible tilt of his head toward Zepo. A silent order.
Jump. Escape. Use the sea.
From what they'd read in the papers, I was a Devil Fruit user. And to most, the ocean was an absolute answer. I raised the chunk of Sea King meat in my hand and waved it lazily.
"Pedro," I said, "even if he leapt into the sea right now, it wouldn't hinder me." Zepo froze mid-breath. "The curse of the sea doesn't apply to me," I continued, taking another bite. "Or have you already forgotten how I caught this Sea King earlier?"
Pedro swallowed hard. He remembered. This man—this monster—had plunged into the ocean without hesitation and hauled a Sea King out as if it were nothing more than a large fish. Devil Fruit or not, the rules clearly did not bind me the way they bound others.
"You can all relax," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "If you don't wish to share Zou's location, that's fine. Oden-san told me a few things about Zunesha back in the day… when we were acquainted."
The effect was immediate. "Oden-sama…?" Pedro whispered.
The reverence in his eyes was unmistakable—wide, earnest, almost childlike. I knew that look well. I also knew exactly who had filled their heads with stories of the man. I chuckled softly.
"Oh? For someone who never met Oden personally, you seem to hold him in very high regard," I said. "Let me guess… was it Inuarashi, or Nekomamushi, who fed you all those grand tales?" Pedro stiffened.
"I do wonder," I continued casually, "what kind of reception they received when they returned to Zou after Oden's death. They're there now, aren't they?"
That was another blow. Pedro's breath caught in his throat. There it was again—that terrifying certainty. I knew not only of the poneglyph, not only of Zunesha, but of the Red Scabbards, of Inuarashi and Nekomamushi's return, and of the truth the Dukes had revealed upon their arrival.
They hadn't abandoned Kozuki Oden. They were waiting. Waiting for the return of the Kozuki line. To Pedro, it felt as though the world had stripped itself bare in front of me. As if no secret—no oath sworn in blood or history—could truly remain hidden.
And for the first time since meeting me, he understood something far more frightening than strength. This wasn't just power. This was knowledge, wielded like a blade.
The more I spoke, the heavier the air around us became. I could feel it—the tension coiling tighter with every breath the minks took. Pedro's ears twitched, Zepo's muscles remained locked, and the younger ones stood frozen as if a single wrong movement would invite death. It was almost amusing how thoroughly I had unsettled them.
I sighed and rose to my feet casually. That simple motion was enough. Every mink stiffened in unison, claws half-flexed, instincts screaming at them to either fight or flee. To them, it must have felt as though the executioner had finally stood from his chair.
"Relax," I said, lifting a hand placatingly. "I'm not some kind of monster…" I paused, then smirked. "…or maybe I am."
I laughed softly at the private joke. After all, to the world at large, I was exactly that—an aberration, a calamity wearing human skin. None of the minks shared my amusement.
"Well," I continued, glancing around the deck, "I suppose as long as I remain here, you won't be able to put your hearts at ease."
I stepped past Pedro, my presence alone forcing him to turn his body slightly away, like prey giving space to a predator it knew it couldn't outrun.
"Thank you for the food," I said sincerely. "Be careful on your journey. The world does not take kindly to those who pry into its secrets."
My gaze sharpened, just a fraction.
"Try to stay away from other powers who, like you, are digging for the truths buried in the poneglyphs. Not all of them will be as… accommodating." Then, with a small chuckle, I added, "And truly—thanks for the meal. It was novel."
The next instant— I was gone. No flash. No warning. One moment I stood on the deck of their galleon, and the next I was already seated on the prow of my own strange craft, fingers working with effortless precision. The tether binding my vessel to theirs fell away in a single, fluid motion.
Only then did the minks realize I had moved. Before any of them could shout, react, or even fully process what had happened, my vessel surged forward. Black lightning danced along its frame, the strange wheels biting into the sea as though it were solid ground.
The ship tore through the moonlit waters like a blade, vanishing into the vast darkness of the ocean. Pedro stared at the empty space where I had been, his chest finally heaving as he released the breath he'd been holding since my arrival.
Far away, carried by the wind and the waves, my path was already set. My next destination awaited— Pure Gold.
It took several long minutes before the minks truly began to settle. The night air was cool, the moon still hanging bright above them, yet every mink aboard the galleon was drenched as if they had sailed through a storm. Their fur clung to their bodies, matted with sweat, hearts still hammering as though the danger had not yet passed.
The sea was quiet now. Too quiet.
"Did… did we really make it out alive?" Zepo finally muttered, his voice rough and unsteady. He took a hesitant step toward Pedro, his boots scraping softly against the deck. "Did he… leave just like that?"
Pedro didn't answer right away. His eyes remained fixed on the dark horizon, on the place where Rosinante's vessel had vanished into the night like a phantom. For a moment, he looked older than his years—far removed from the adventurous youth who had set sail from Zou with dreams of discovery. Then, without turning, he spoke.
"Why do you sound like you want him to come back, Zepo?" Zepo froze. "Be grateful," Pedro continued quietly, "that he bore no ill will toward us… and that he didn't force us to give up the location of Zunesha."
Only now did Pedro exhale, his shoulders lowering slightly, as if he had been carrying a mountain on his back. Even now, part of him struggled to accept that they were still alive—that the monster who had seen through them so completely had simply… walked away.
"Duke-sama was right," Pedro said, his tone firming. "The seas beyond Zou are truly dangerous. From here on, we need to be more restrained. We avoid humans whenever possible." Zepo nodded slowly, but uncertainty still lingered in his eyes.
"…Maybe we should've asked him how he did it," Zepo said after a moment. "How he read us so easily. What if we run into someone like that again during our voyage?"
Pedro finally turned to face him. A wry, humorless smile tugged at his lips.
"Trust me, Zepo," he said. "I'd bet my right arm that even if we scoured the entire world, we wouldn't find many monsters like him." The weight of those words settled heavily on the deck.
"Phew…" a voice suddenly chimed in, cutting through the tension.
"I really thought our journey was gonna end there," Pekoms said, rubbing the back of his head with an awkward laugh. His voice—still young, still unpolished—trembled just slightly despite his attempt at bravado. "The world outside is really scary…"
Pedro and Zepo turned slowly toward him. Their expressions were identical. Ugly. Sharp. Absolutely murderous. Pekoms swallowed. The silence stretched.
"You little bastard," Zepo growled.
"If not for your recklessness," Pedro added coldly, "we wouldn't have spent the last few hours walking a tightrope over our own graves."
Pekoms opened his mouth to protest—and stopped. Pedro and Zepo locked eyes. They nodded in perfect unison. Pekoms felt it then. A chill crawled up his spine.
"H-Hey…?" he started, taking a step back.
Too late. Both Pedro and Zepo grabbed him by the shoulders at the same time, lifting him clean off the deck.
"WAIT—!"
The night was soon filled with the very educational sounds of thuds, yelps, and pitiful apologies echoing across the sea. The rest of the mink crew turned away politely. Some smiled. Some pretended not to see. And somewhere far beyond the horizon, the sea carried the laughter of a monster already chasing his next destiny.
****
Cocoyashi Village, East Blue
The shop was small and dim, its wooden shelves bowed under the weight of old books and rolled charts that smelled faintly of salt and ink. Sunlight filtered in through the open front, catching dust motes in the air. For most villagers it was just another little stall near the docks.
For Nami, it was a treasure trove. She was barely four—maybe five at most—small enough that the counter rose above her head. Her orange hair was messy, tied back poorly with a scrap of string, and her eyes were far too sharp for a child her age. They flicked across the shelves again and again, always returning to the same book.
Principles of Sea Navigation and Cartography.
It was old, its corners frayed, the cover faded—but to Nami it might as well have been gold. She stood on her toes, fingers curling around the spine. For a moment, she hesitated. Bell-mère's face flashed through her mind—mud on her boots, a cigarette dangling from her lips, that tired smile she always wore when pretending everything was fine.
We don't have money for this, Nami thought, her tiny hands tightening. If I ask, she'll say no… or she'll say yes and pretend it's nothing. She didn't want that. So she made her choice.
With a careful glance over her shoulder, Nami slid the book free and hugged it to her chest. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the whole shop could hear it. She lifted the hem of her worn dress and tucked the book beneath it, the stiff cover pressing awkwardly against her ribs.
She straightened, forcing herself to breathe. Just walk, she told herself. Like nothing happened. She took one step. Then another.
"Oi."
The voice snapped like a whip. Nami froze. A large shadow loomed over her as the shop's owner—a thick-necked, middle-aged man with tired eyes and a permanent scowl—stepped out from behind the counter. His gaze dropped immediately to her stomach, where the outline of the hidden book was painfully obvious.
"…What do you think you're doing, brat?"
Nami's fingers clenched at her sides. She shook her head quickly, eyes wide and shining. "N-Nothing, sir…" The man's lips curled into a sneer.
"Nothing, huh?" He reached out and yanked the book free in one rough motion, nearly pulling Nami off balance. "Funny. Books don't just crawl under kids' dresses on their own."
Tears welled up instantly, but Nami bit her lip, forcing them back. The man's voice grew louder, sharp enough to draw attention from outside.
"So it's you, huh?" he snapped. "I knew it. Books have been going missing for weeks now. Guess I finally caught the little thief."
"What?" Nami shook her head desperately. "No! I didn't—! I only—!"
"Oh, don't lie to me." He crouched slightly, his face level with hers, eyes cold. "You think I don't know where you come from? That shack by the cliff. That loudmouthed woman who causes trouble wherever she goes."
Bell-mère. The name wasn't spoken, but it hung heavy in the air.
"She thinks she can do whatever she wants," the man continued bitterly. "Living alone, raising kids without a husband, acting like she's better than everyone else." He straightened, gripping the book tightly. "Guess this is what she teaches you. Stealing."
That did it. Nami's vision blurred, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. "She doesn't!" she cried.
"She doesn't steal! I just—I just wanted the book…" Her voice cracked. "I won't ask her for money," she whispered. "She works really hard. I didn't wanna be a bother."
For just a moment, something flickered in the man's eyes. Then it vanished.
"Tch." He scoffed. "Save your excuses." He grabbed Nami by the arm—not hard enough to injure, but rough enough to hurt—and pulled her toward the front of the stall. Nami stumbled, sobbing quietly now, her small shoulders shaking.
"Go on," he said harshly, shoving the book back onto the shelf. "And don't come back here again. Next time, I won't be so nice."
Nami staggered outside, the sunlight blinding, her chest aching as if something precious had been ripped out of her—not just the book, but the dream it represented. She stood there for a moment, wiping her face with her sleeve.
"Ptui…!"
The sound was wet and ugly. Spittle struck the dirt inches from Nami's bare feet, the intent unmistakable. She flinched, but she didn't look up. Her small shoulders sagged as she lowered her head, fingers curling into the hem of her dress as if she could make herself smaller, quieter—someone unworthy of notice.
She took a step back, ready to leave. Then the man spoke again.
"Tch. Figures a brat like you would turn out rotten," he sneered. "Raised by that woman… what was her name again? Bell-mère, right?"
Nami stopped. The man laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Always strutting around like she owned the place. No husband, no shame. Spreading her legs to anyone who'd look her way—probably why the Marines kicked her out in the first place."
The words were filthy. Cruel. Spoken casually, like gossip over spoiled fish. Nami didn't understand everything he said. But she understood enough. Something inside her snapped. Before fear could catch up—before thought, before reason—her small hand shot down and grabbed the first thing it found. A sharp stone, cold and rough against her palm.
She turned and threw it. The stone flew crooked, driven by pure, unfiltered rage. It struck the man square on the forehead with a dull crack, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down his face. Silence fell. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Nami stood frozen, her chest heaving, eyes wide with sudden terror at what she had done. The stone clattered to the ground, far louder than it had any right to be. The man slowly reached up and touched his forehead. His fingers came away red. His expression changed. Not pain. Humiliation.
Rage twisted his face as he looked down at her—a small, trembling child who had dared to strike him. "You little bitch…"
Two long strides were all it took. Nami barely had time to gasp before a shadow loomed over her. She tried to step back, but fear rooted her feet to the ground. Her eyes filled with tears as the man's boot came up—and then it came down. The kick slammed into her chest with brutal force.
"Ah—!"
The air was ripped from her lungs as her body lifted off the ground, light and helpless. She flew backward, her scream tearing through the street before she hit the dirt hard, rolling once before coming to a stop.
Pain exploded through her ribs. Her vision swam. She tried to breathe, but nothing came—just a silent, choking gasp as tears streamed freely down her face. She curled in on herself instinctively, small hands clutching her chest, shaking. Above her, the man stood glaring, chest heaving, blood still trickling down his brow.
"Learn your place," he spat.
A few villagers had witnessed the moment young Nami was kicked. Gasps rippled through the street—sharp, horrified intakes of breath—but most people froze where they stood, shock rooting them in place. No one moved. No one spoke. Except one man.
"You bastard—!"
The roar tore through the street like a gunshot. The store owner barely had time to turn before something hit him. A fist—hard, precise, carrying years of discipline and barely restrained fury—slammed into his jaw. There was a sickening crack as his body lifted off the ground, feet leaving the dirt as he was hurled sideways into his own stall. Crates exploded, planks snapped, and books spilled like frightened birds as the man crashed through them in a tangle of wood, paper, and pain.
The marketplace fell deathly silent. The store owner groaned, barely clinging to consciousness, rage keeping his eyes open as he tried to focus on the figure who had struck him. His vision swam, but he made out an average-looking man in a police uniform—dark hair, thick mustache, and eyes burning with barely contained anger.
Genzo, the sheriff of Cocoyashi Village. Genzo didn't even look at him at first.
He was already kneeling, carefully lifting Nami from the dirt. His hands, rough from years of work and duty, were impossibly gentle as he cradled her against his chest. Nami trembled, fingers clutching weakly at his coat, her small body still shaking from the pain and fear. The store owner spat blood and laughed hoarsely.
"You bastard… aren't you the sheriff of this village?" he rasped. "Aren't you supposed to uphold the law? And here you are, siding with a little thief?"
Genzo's jaw tightened. He looked down at Nami. At how she shrank further into herself at the word thief, eyes filling with tears she was desperately trying to hold back. He knew—he knew—that the man was telling the truth. The book hadn't been paid for.
But that truth felt meaningless compared to the sight of a child kicked across the street. Genzo rose slowly, Nami still in his arms.
"Yeah… figures," the store owner continued, wiping blood from his mouth as he staggered upright. "What justice was I expecting from the likes of you? You're just another one lining up to get into the pants of that loose woman—"
The air changed. Genzo's stare sharpened, something dark and dangerous surfacing beneath his calm exterior—but the man didn't notice. Or didn't care.
"What? Am I wrong?" he sneered. "The whole village knows you're swooning over her. Beating me up won't change that. And it won't change the fact that the little bitch in your arms is a thief."
Nami flinched violently. That did it. Genzo exhaled—a long, slow breath—then gently set Nami down behind him, shielding her with his body. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills and coins, far more than the book was worth.
He walked forward. The sound of the money hitting the counter was sharp in the silence.
"That's for the book," Genzo said evenly. Then he snatched the navigation book from the man's hand, his grip iron-tight. "And this—" Genzo continued, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing the store owner whole, "—is for hurting Nami."
The punch came faster than sight. A brutal right hook smashed into the man's jaw, snapping his head sideways with a sickening crack. He collapsed instantly, unconscious before he hit the ground. Genzo spat beside him.
"You'd better run," he muttered coldly, though the man couldn't hear him, "before Bell-mère finds out you laid a hand on her daughter."
He turned away without another glance. Genzo crouched, lifting Nami once more into his arms. She clung to him now, sobs finally breaking free, her face buried against his chest. He held her close, one hand steadying her, the other clutching the book she had wanted so badly.
As he walked away, the villagers parted instinctively, no one daring to stop him. Genzo headed toward the outskirts of the village, toward the newly planted orange grove where the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and hope. Behind him lay a broken stall and a broken man.
Ahead of him—a wounded child, a book of dreams, and a future that would one day change the world.