In Maple Village, the largest bathhouse had been emptied. Inside and out, apart from William, not a soul remained.
The bathhouse chimney no longer released smoke, as all staff had been dismissed.
From afar, Aramis, Edmund, Tony, and Sherlock—William's old companions in Maple Village—approached.
"Why would William come here?" Aramis asked curiously. Since the Morgan Pirates had docked, William had ordered him to help settle the crew and arrange their rest. He had been running about constantly, too busy to speak with William in detail.
Sherlock loosened his tie and said casually, "William's exhausted. He said he wanted to relax."
Barbarossa had been a renowned pirate in the East Blue, and a Devil Fruit user at that. William, unwilling to attract the notice of Arcadio, Roy, or the World Government and Navy they represented, had lived aboard the ship like walking a tightrope. Every day was heavy with pressure.
From the moment he boarded, his nerves had been stretched taut. He had not relaxed once until now, when he could finally let down his guard.
He had delegated immediate matters to his officers and to his old Maple Village companions. After a few brief words, he ordered the bathhouse cleared, intending to rest alone, and told his comrades to meet him once they finished their tasks.
"Relax, huh?" Tony, the old hand, dragged out his words with a lewd grin. "Why didn't he say earlier? I could've called some women over."
Sherlock ignored him, peering at the chimney. "Strange. With no staff here, who's heating the water?"
Though puzzled, the group went inside. With no attendants, they fetched what they needed from the service station. Edmund, ever curious, tried to peek into the women's side until Sherlock yanked him back.
In the changing room, the rising heat was obvious. Edmund quickly stripped, wrapped a towel around his waist, and pulled open the door to the baths.
A rush of hot air blasted him. The sudden contrast in temperature nearly robbed him of breath. The bath chamber was thick with steam. He held the door open until some of it drifted away, then finally saw the scene inside.
William sat in a steaming pool, back to the door, arms resting on the edge, head tilted with a white towel draped across his face, as though asleep.
His bare back revealed a tattoo of a single eye. He had it inked earlier that year, before Redbeard's attack on Valon and Edmund.
No one around William knew what the design meant—only he and the tattooist.
It was the Eye of Horus, drawn from Egyptian myth, a symbol of divine protection and supreme authority.
The ancient Egyptians had also believed the Eye of Horus aided in resurrection and rebirth. Many pharaohs' mummies bore the sign.
For William, the tattoo served another purpose. It covered the "Celestial Hoof" brand on his back. A larger circular scar formed the pupil of the eye, its red imprint combined with black lines to form a strange and unsettling gaze.
William had only asked for the eye itself. The tattooist added artistry of his own, painting a faint lotus and eagle wings behind it.
The design spread across most of William's back. In the haze of steam, the black lines and red pupil seemed alive, staring directly at those behind him.
The branded circle had been burned into him by Ajin, who knew nothing of the "Celestial Hoof" but understood William wanted it hidden. He never spoke of it.
William himself cared little about being a slave. Even if he did not recall the old sayings—"Born in hardship, die in ease" or the long list of men who rose from obscurity—he still remembered the famous line: "Are kings and generals born of noble blood?"
A man like William, rebellious by nature, cared nothing for origins. And the truth was, the slave brand belonged to the body's original owner, not to the transmigrant soul now inhabiting it.
Yet William had lived in this world long enough to know he could not see everything through the eyes of a traveler.
The Celestial Dragons were the face of the World Government. Even pirates hesitated to oppose them directly. His men would never despise him for his brand, but they might feel unease at its implications—that he stood at odds with the Dragons themselves.
So he never revealed it. Not even Aramis or the late Valon knew. Only Ajin, whose character William had tested and found steady and loyal, was told. And even Ajin did not know what the mark meant, nor did he care.
When the others entered and came to the poolside, they found the water level low. Sitting on the steps submerged only the waist.
Reckless Edmund plunged a foot in, only to leap back with a yelp, teeth clenched. "It's boiling hot!"
Sherlock frowned. "I saw no smoke from the chimney outside, and the staff are gone. Who heated it?"
"I did," William said, pulling the towel from his face and looking at them. "My Devil Fruit ability."
They all knew the Morgan Pirates, once the Redbeard Pirates, had sailed into the Calm Belt, and that William had eaten a Devil Fruit. But they had never learned what power it gave him.
Aramis leaned forward, curious and expectant. "So what fruit did you eat?"
"A Logia," William replied. His right hand turned into vapor, faintly shaped like a hand of steam. "As for its name, the fruit didn't tell me. How would I know? Maybe I'll have to give it one myself someday."
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