After the Minnow pirate ship was completely destroyed, the Marine vessel turned away from the scene and began its slow return to base. The journey would take time.
Gojo was given a standard cabin to rest in—not a private one, but a shared quarters used by many Marines. As hours passed, more soldiers came in, weary and silent, lying down wherever space allowed. Including Gojo, there were four of them now. He knew none of their names, and, being naturally introverted, made no effort to start a conversation. He simply sat in his corner, quiet and distant.
Night stretched on. Gojo never slept. He wasn't tired—his body felt alert, his mind sharper than ever. The heightened perception of his Six Eyes was still strange to him, each flicker of movement or whisper of breath registering with unsettling clarity. How can anyone sleep with senses like these?
When the first light of dawn slipped through the small porthole, he finally rose. With his eyes still closed, he stepped out of the cabin and onto the deck. The chill of morning wind brushed against his face, carrying the faint scent of salt and iron. He stood there for a while, silent, feeling the air move around him—calm after the chaos of battle.
On the deck, dozens of Marine soldiers were already at work—scrubbing, hauling, shouting orders to one another as the morning light gleamed across the sea.
Gojo stepped out quietly, his footsteps light against the wooden planks. He slowly opened his eyes, scanning the horizon. In the distance, he spotted an island—large, bustling, and dotted with countless buildings. From this far, even the faint hum of activity seemed to reach him. It was clearly a prosperous town.
But almost instantly, the flood of sensory information began to press into his mind. The sharpness of his Six Eyes turned every detail into a piercing overload. He exhaled softly and closed his eyes again, letting the world dim to darkness. Too much… I'm still not used to it.
At that moment, Smoker appeared on deck. He noticed Gojo standing still, eyes closed, facing the direction of the log down. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he approached and asked, "Can you sense the Loguetown from here too?"
Gojo shook his head calmly. "No, that's not the case. I only opened my eyes for a moment—to see if there was any island nearby and whether we were close to land."
Smoker gave a slow nod, the faint curl of smoke drifting from his mouth. "We're almost there," he said. "You must've heard about Loguetown."
Gojo nodded lightly at Smoker's question and said, "Yes, how could I not know? This is the same town where the Pirate King, Gol...Gold Roger, was executed. Of course I've heard of it." He almost said Gol D. Roger, but most people in the world—except those in high positions within the World Government and the most powerful pirates—only know him as Gold Roger, not Gol D. Roger.
Smoker gave a short nod, the wind tugging at his coat. That fact was known by almost everyone across the seas. "This is the town where I'm currently stationed," he said. "In the future, if you ever need help, I'll do what I can."
Gojo tilted his head slightly, eyes still closed, a faint crease forming on his brow. "Why are you so concerned about me?" he asked. "You're showing too much care. I'll be blunt—as I said yesterday, I won't be joining the Marines. If you're hoping that goodwill might convince me otherwise, I'm sorry, but that's impossible."
Smoker exhaled a thin plume of smoke and shook his head. "It's not like that," he replied calmly. "You made yourself clear yesterday—you don't want to join the Marines. Your dislike for us is understandable, given your past, though I don't know exactly what made you resent the Marines so deeply. Forcing you would only backfire, and I'm not foolish enough to try something like that."
"As for showing goodwill toward you," Smoker said, his tone steady, "this was my first mission in the East Blue since being transferred here. And besides, you're just a kid I happened to save. Showing a little goodwill isn't that strange for me."
Gojo only shook his head at that, saying nothing more. The two of them stood quietly at the rail, waiting as the Marine ship neared the docks. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and oil, and the faint sound of gulls grew louder as the port came into view.
Within the hour, the ship finally reached the harbor. Marines began unloading the captured pirates, their boots thudding against the wooden pier as orders were shouted back and forth. Gojo followed silently behind Smoker, eyes still closed, his steps unhurried and calm amid the noise.
As they walked, Smoker glanced at him curiously. "By the way," he said, "even with your eyes closed, you can sense everything around you. Have you awakened Observation Haki?"
Gojo shook his head slightly and said, "I don't even know what Observation Haki is in the first place. After I ate the Devil Fruit, my perception of everything around me increased drastically. When I keep my eyes open, the amount of detail that floods my brain is… too much to handle. That's why I keep them closed. But even so, I can still feel everything nearby—it's not like I'm completely blind. If this state counts as Observation Haki, then maybe, yes, I've awakened it."
Smoker nodded thoughtfully, smoke curling from his lips as he listened. "Devil Fruits are strange things," he said. "They grant all kinds of powers—some more mysterious than others. Maybe yours is one of those special ones… something that let you awaken Observation Haki right after eating it."
Gojo, of course, already knew what Haki was. Being a transmigrator, he understood the concept far better than he could ever admit. Smoker's assumption wasn't wrong—after eating the Devil Fruit, his senses had evolved into something that could only be described as an advanced form of Observation Haki. Every ripple of air, every faint shift in movement registered in his mind with sharp precision.
But maintaining that state drained him. Even now, with his eyes closed, he could feel the constant pull on his stamina, like his mind was a muscle stretched to its limit. I can't keep this up for long, he thought quietly.
Still, he kept his expression calm, saying nothing. Revealing his knowledge would only raise questions—questions he couldn't afford to answer. To Smoker, he was just a child from a small village. Someone like that shouldn't even know what Haki is—especially in the East Blue, where barely a handful of people had even heard of it.
So Gojo merely nodded slightly, keeping his secret buried behind closed eyes as the sounds of the dock bustled around him.
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