"Anyway, boy…" Dr. Kureha began, her tone shifting from knowing to clinically sharp, though the brilliant, almost predatory smile never left her face. It was a bizarre contrast—her body moved with the vigor of a woman in her prime, a testament to her legendary skills, but her face was a roadmap of centuries, her eyes holding the weight of all 140 years. "Do you have any idea how close you were to dancing with the death?"
"Close," Mario conceded, trying to sit up again with a pained grunt, "but not dead."
Flick!
With speed that defied her age, Kureha's finger snapped forward, thumping him squarely on the forehead and forcing him back onto the pillows. "I said close! Don't get cocky," she chided, still smiling. "Let's review, shall we? A punctured lung. A perforated abdomen. You are astronomically lucky the arrows missed every vital organ. Severe hypothermia in your extremities—another few minutes and I'd be sewing your fingers back on. And extreme blood loss. If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a death wish." She listed the catastrophic injuries as casually as if she were reading a grocery list.
Mario managed a weak, pained laugh. "Well… some things are worth dying for."
As the words left his lips, his eyes, almost of their own volition, darted toward Nami. She, in turn, immediately found a fascinating crack in the stone ceiling to study, a deep, rosy blush spreading from her cheeks down to her neck, betraying her feigned nonchalance.
Kureha's sharp eyes missed nothing. "Well, I can certainly see that," she said, her voice dripping with dry amusement. She turned her gaze to Nami. "You, at least, he got here in the nick of time. I haven't seen a fever that vicious in fifty years. It would have cooked your brain in another day." Her tone then shifted to a whip-crack of authority. "And did I not explicitly tell you to STAY IN BED?"
Nami flinched as if struck, suddenly sweating under her thick layers of blankets. "Ah! Y-yes! But I… I had to check on Mario!" she stammered, gesturing weakly at her bundled form. "I'm all wrapped up, you see… It's not like I'm running a marathon…" Her voice trailed off under Kureha's unblinking, deeply unimpressed stare.
„Well, what can you expect from pirates? A complete disregard for their own well-being," Kureha said with a sigh that was more theatrical than genuine. „Anyway, now that I've checked on my most stubborn patients, I have other matters to attend to. There is an experiment I need to finish. It's long overdue."
Dr. Hiriluk's beautiful experiment,
Mario thought, a genuine, knowing smile touching his lips. He couldn't wait to witness the miracle that was the cherry blossoms blooming in the snow, a sight that would heal a kingdom's heart.
„We will also be going soon. Thank you for everything," Nami said, already beginning to shift as if to stand.
Kureha's head snapped around, her eyes narrowing. „Huh? Who said you can go?" Her voice was low, each word dripping with icy, professional menace. „I have never let a patient leave my care before they are completely healed. And you," she pointed a bony finger at Mario, „are not healed." She turned her gaze to Nami. „And you are not out of the woods yet. I said at least four more days of rest and observation before you can even think about leaving."
„Four days?!" Nami's voice rose in panic. „But we can't stay! We have urgent—"
„I don't care what you have!" Kureha's voice cut through the air like a scalpel. „Do not leave this castle before I clear you. Or else…" She slowly traced her index finger across her throat, the gesture simple and horrifyingly clear. The dangerous glint in her ancient eyes brooked no argument. Mario and Nami could only nod in mute, fearful understanding.
„Good," Kureha said, the menace vanishing as quickly as it came, replaced by a business-like tone. „Now, rest. I'll be back after I finish my work." With that, she swept out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her and leaving Mario and Nami alone in the sudden, heavy quiet.
They both let out a synchronized sigh of relief, the tension draining from their shoulders. But it was quickly replaced by a thick, awkward silence. The memory of their interrupted moment hung between them, tangible and electric.
Nami glanced at Mario, her cheeks still faintly flushed. She cleared her throat. „Sooo…," she began, her voice slightly too bright. „We need to get out of here. Who knows what's happening in Alabasta by now…"
„Yes," Mario agreed, his own mind a whirlwind of conflict about what had almost—and what had not—happened between them.
„Tonight. We'll run away."
„Yes," Nami echoed, her voice softer now. She moved to get up from the bed, her movements strangely hesitant.
„I'll… go prepare. And see what kind of trouble Luffy and Usopp have gotten into by now." There was a reluctance in her step, a flicker of something that looked almost like disappointment as she turned away.
Mario watched her rise, a sudden, desperate ache blooming in his chest. He didn't want her to go. Not like this. Not with all these unspoken words hanging in the air. His mind spun with a million questions and fears.
Does he want this? Is he ready for the consequences? Does he even know what they would be? How would this change the crew? What happens at the end of their story?
It was a tidal wave of doubt and fear, a logical, screaming warning from every rational part of his being.
But his body betrayed him.
His hand, moving on an instinct deeper than fear or reason, darted out and caught hers, his fingers intertwining with hers.
It was not a hesitant brush, but a decisive act, a final, burning bridge between his past and his future. He wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the protest of his wounded side, pulling her as close as their bodies would allow.
An explosion of pure, unadulterated feeling detonated in his mind, washing away the last remnants of his analytical, spectator's perspective.
The "what-ifs," the fears of altering the narrative, the ghost of his old life—it all vaporized into meaningless static. Nothing mattered but this moment, the feeling of her in his arms, the reality of her lips against his.
Nami's initial surprise lasted only a heartbeat. Her wide, questioning eyes softened, fluttered shut, and she melted into the kiss. One of her hands came up, not to push him away, but to cradle his cheek, her touch gentle yet firm, deepening the connection as she kissed him back with a passion that stole the air from his lungs.
It was useless to think about it anymore. In that kiss, Mario finally, completely, and irrevocably let go of the notion that this was a fictional world.
The final anchor to his old life slipped away.
No.
This was real. As real as the soft, insistent pressure of her lips moving against his. As real as the intoxicating scent of oranges and sea salt that was uniquely her. As real as the silken strands of her hair tickling his face. The crew, the adventures, the dangers, the joys—it was all breathtakingly, painfully, wonderfully real. This was the world he belonged to, the family he would fight for, and the woman he was undeniably, hopelessly falling for. He would be with them until this world ended and he drew his last breath.
All his worries and insecurities melted away in the furnace of that single, perfect kiss.
Slowly, and with palpable reluctance, they parted, their breath mingling in the small space between them. Nami's face remained close to his, her forehead resting against his, their eyes closed as they simply breathed each other in, savoring the lingering sensation.
"I'm sorry…" Mario whispered, the words breathed against her lips, but the apology was hollow, contradicted by the radiant, unshakeable smile that had taken permanent residence on his face.
Nami leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, her own glistening with a soft, open affection he had never seen in them before. A small, knowing smile played on her kiss-swollen lips.
"No…" she murmured, her voice a husky, intimate whisper. "Don't be. I… I quite liked that."
"So… what now?" Mario asked, the words coming out in a breathless, dazed rush, a grin so wide and idiotic it felt like it might permanently reshape his face.
"First," Nami said, her own smile betraying her stern tone as she pointed a finger at him, "wipe that ridiculous smirk off your face." She rose from the bed, her movements graceful, but she kept her hand firmly in his, their fingers laced together as if they were unwilling to break the new, fragile connection. "Second, you stay down and get some rest. And third, be ready to leave tonight."
She was turned towards the door, but Mario could see the tips of her ears burning a brilliant, tell-tale crimson. Her voice softened, losing its navigator's command and gaining a vulnerable, wondering quality.
"I… I've never had feelings like this before," she admitted, her gaze fixed on the door as if confessing to the wood itself. "Almost my whole life, I've been running, cheating, and fighting. First for myself, then for my village… There was no room for anything else. No room for… this." She gave his hand a slight, unconscious squeeze.
"But since defeating Arlong, since joining this crew…" She took a shaky breath, and Mario could feel the profound shift in her, the unburdening of a soul that had carried chains for far too long. "I found a freedom I never knew existed. The freedom to laugh without guilt, to trust without fear, to dream without limits…"
She paused, gathering her courage, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "And this new freedom… it let me feel things I never allowed myself to feel before. Feelings… for you."
If Mario could see her face, he knew it would be as red as a mikan orange, but the raw honesty in her voice was more breathtaking than any sight.
"I know what my dream is" she continued, her voice growing smaller, more embarrassed with each word, yet fiercely determined. "But I've also started to realize… that I want this. Whatever this is between us."
The confession hung in the air, tender and brave. Mario's own face flushed with a heat that rivaled a fever; he had never dared to hope for such a clear, heartfelt answer.
Suddenly, she spun around. Her eyes were squeezed shut in a mix of utter mortification and resolve, her face a spectacular shade of scarlet. She darted forward, capturing his lips in a quick, firm, yet incredibly sweet kiss.
Before he could even process it, she pulled back, her eyes flying open to meet his stunned gaze.
"And I'm a very greedy person," she declared, her voice trembling but full of conviction. "So consider yourself mine."
With that final, possessive statement, she turned and bolted from the room, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving Mario alone with the ghost of her touch and the scent of oranges.
He sat there, utterly stunned, his heart hammering a joyful, chaotic rhythm against his ribs. The smile never left his lips. It was etched there, a permanent testament to a happiness so profound it felt like a dream, yet was undeniably, wonderfully real.