The sea had gone quiet again. Only the steady creak of the Eternal and the low murmur of the waves filled the silence.
Jin sat cross-legged beneath the ship's shade, bare-chested, his skin still marked with faint red lines from the backlash of his techniques. The faint scent of blood and salt clung to him.
Kuina approached with a jade bottle in hand. "Here," she said, her tone soft but teasing. "Don't pretend you're fine. Every inch of you's screaming right now."
He smirked, accepting the bottle. "You sound like Kikoru."
"Don't compare me to your system voice," she shot back, rolling her eyes. "I've seen the way you fight. Your veins nearly burst every time you push too far."
Jin uncorked the bottle and swallowed two crimson pills. "My stamina's fine. Just some strain in the meridians. Half a day's rest and I'll be back to normal."
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. His joints cracked like popping firecrackers as he stretched. "Guess I've gotten too used to peace. My control slipped in that fight—hell, I even almost let a heart demon form mid-battle. If that thing had been any stronger, I'd be fish food right now."
Kuina frowned, folding her arms. "Then rest, idiot. You don't need to prove anything today."
Jin didn't answer. He just tilted his head back, eyes half-closed, letting the rhythm of the sea lull him. Around him, the others worked in quiet rhythm.
Tina scanned the horizon from the lookout perch, her sharp eyes catching every ripple.
Kuma, now cleaned of gore, was carefully bottling the Sea King King's heart blood, humming low.
Makino, smiling faintly, had retreated to the small kitchen to prepare dinner—the smell of roasted fish and spiced fruit drifted through the air.
The Eternal was alive with small, comforting noises.
Jin's breathing slowed. Inside, he replayed every moment of the fight—each strike, each breath, each weakness. He could see them clearly now.
Using inner force to fuel physical combat, I can sustain high-level output for around two hours. But full burst—meridian burn, blood ignition—lasts barely one.
Every technique I have consumes too much… they're flashy, not efficient. I hit like thunder, but I don't flow like water.
His eyes opened slightly. A smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.
"Damn," he muttered, "I've been wasting energy like a drunk swordsman."
He reached for his blade—Bloodtrace—resting beside him, the steel dark and quiet. The reflection of his own face stared back, violet eyes faintly glowing.
"Dominating Blade," he whispered. "The word dominance… it's not just about strength." His voice dropped lower, resonating. "It's about will. When I draw, the world bends. Heaven, earth—both cut in half."
The realization struck him like lightning. His aura flared for an instant before settling into calm.
Kuina turned sharply from the deck above, sensing the pulse of his will. "Jin?"
He smiled faintly. "Nothing. Just found the path again."
She looked at him for a long moment, then turned back to the sea. But her eyes softened.
Night fell.
The Eternal's deck glowed under warm lantern light. Plates of roast meat, steamed fish, and Makino's honey-fruit wine lined the table. The crew gathered, relaxed for the first time in days.
Makino set down a tray, wiping her hands on her apron. "Eat before it gets cold," she said gently.
Jin waited until everyone was settled before picking up his cup. "Alright. We survived the East Blue's little surprise. That thing… a Sea King King. Even with everything I've got, breaking its hide without inner force would've been impossible."
He smiled faintly, raising his drink. "So yeah—cheers to being alive."
Laughter rippled around the table. They drank.
After a few bites, Jin's tone grew more thoughtful. "That fight showed me something. This sea's a lot nastier than I gave it credit for. I thought I'd seen everything the East Blue could offer—but that thing?" He shook his head. "If that was lurking here, then I've been too damn casual."
"It's not your fault," Tina said, sipping her wine. "The Navy's records on creatures that size are almost nonexistent. I've read the archives—there's nothing about a Sea King King like that. Nothing about that whirlpool zone either."
Makino tilted her head. "Maybe you just missed it? You can't have read every page, right?"
Tina frowned. "I was top of my class in record analysis. I'd remember. If something that strong was logged, I'd have found it. Even the reverse-current beasts are cataloged."
Jin chuckled under his breath. "You really trust the Navy's paperwork that much?"
She shot him a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"The Navy doesn't record what it can't control," he said casually, leaning back. "There are plenty of secrets even Vice Admirals never hear about. Maybe you just weren't high enough rank to see the real files."
Tina's eyes narrowed. "Oh? And you would know, mister mercenary?"
Kuina, who had been quietly nursing her wine, finally spoke. "He's right."
Tina blinked. "You too?"
Kuina's tone was cool but certain. "Information is power. Any system that hoards it does so to protect itself. The Navy's no different."
Tina scoffed, crossing her arms. "In every sea there are bad men, sure—but that doesn't mean justice is fake."
Makino laughed softly, the sound like a bell. "Now, now. You two can debate philosophy tomorrow. Tonight, we eat."
She poured more wine, her smile warm enough to melt away the tension. "Besides," she added, glancing at Tina, "once you've had your revenge, you can help me brew. I could use a partner."
Tina blinked, surprised—and then smiled. "You really mean that?"
Makino winked. "Of course. You've got strong hands. You'd be perfect at crushing fruit."
The crew burst into laughter, and even Tina blushed slightly. "Alright, alright," she said, chuckling. "Once I'm done with my past, I'll help you make the best damn wine on this sea."
Across the table, Jin watched them, a quiet smile pulling at his lips.
This—this warmth—was what he wanted to protect.
Not kingdoms. Not glory. Just this table. These faces. This peace.
He'd kill gods if it meant keeping it.
Later that night, after the plates were cleared and laughter faded, the ship drifted beneath a pale moon.
Jin stood alone at the bow, his coat fluttering in the wind, eyes half-closed as he traced the motion of the waves. Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
"Still awake?" Makino's voice was gentle, carrying a note of concern.
He smiled faintly. "Couldn't sleep."
She came to stand beside him, her shoulder brushing his arm. "You're thinking too much again."
"Always."
They stood in silence for a while. The moonlight painted her face in silver, her hair glowing softly. She glanced at him, the corner of her lips tilting. "You know, every time you fight, I feel like I age a year."
He chuckled. "Guess I owe you a few lifetimes, then."
Her smile faded. "Just… don't make me watch you die, Jin."
He turned to her, eyes soft. "I'll try not to."
The distance between them dissolved. Her hand brushed his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. It was too fast—still recovering from the day's strain.
"You're still burning up," she murmured.
"Residual energy," he said quietly. "It'll fade soon."
She looked up at him, searching his eyes for something—fear, reassurance, anything. What she found instead was calm. And that terrified her more.
Before she could speak again, Jin leaned forward, his breath brushing her ear. "Makino…"
Her heart stuttered.
He didn't kiss her—at least, not immediately. He waited, eyes locked on hers, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn't.
Their lips met, slow and hesitant at first, then deeper as the tension melted away. The kiss was soft—filled with the relief of survival, the quiet promise of another dawn.
When they finally parted, she leaned against his shoulder, breathing softly. "You always say you don't belong anywhere," she whispered. "But this… this ship… it's home now."
Jin didn't answer for a while. Then he nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Home."
The word felt heavy. Precious. Dangerous.
He'd lost too many homes before.
And now that he'd found one again, he would burn the world to protect it.
The waves whispered beneath them, carrying the Eternal onward through a sea that no longer seemed so cruel.
For tonight, at least, the world was quiet.
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T/N :
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