By the threshing ground in the afternoon.
Three small figures crouched beside a haystack, watching the lanky teenager kicking pebbles as he wandered along the distant ridge, their faces full of confusion.
"Boss Usopp is walking around the village for the third time today," Pepper Head tugged at his green hair. "When is he going to visit Miss Kaya?"
"I heard Miss Kaya has been taking walks along the beach with a strange man lately," Radish Head mumbled through a mouthful of carrot.
"I saw it too," Onion Head pushed up his round glasses, his small brow furrowed tightly. "That man looks fierce, and he smells like smoke. Miss Kaya's face turns red when she talks to him..."
As the words fell, Usopp came around the corner of the ridge carrying a worn cloth bag. Hearing this, his steps halted abruptly. The usual boastful, proud smile he wore froze for a moment before stretching even wider as he swaggered over. "Hey, what are you whispering about? Do you want to hear another new story I brought back from the Grand Line?"
"Boss!" Pepper Head immediately jumped up. "You should go check on Miss Kaya! Who is that strange man? Could he be a bad guy?"
Usopp's hand tightened on the strap of his cloth bag. He remembered three days ago when he saw Kaya crouching on the beach collecting shells, looking so happy. Something inside him felt like it had been struck hard—sour and somewhat stifling.
Suddenly, all those repeatedly fabricated adventure stories, all the concern he'd mustered courage to express, seemed to have become unnecessary.
"What bad guy?" Usopp released his grip and patted Pepper Head's shoulder, deliberately making his voice sound light. "That's a friend Miss Kaya knows. He's helping to cheer her up."
"Then why aren't you going to see her anymore?" Onion Head pressed. "You used to go to the mansion every day."
Usopp turned and looked toward the mansion, smiling as he said, "Think about it. Miss Kaya has just recovered. Wouldn't it be tiring for her to always listen to my violent stories? Now she has someone to watch the sea and talk with her. Isn't that good?"
He paused, pulling three wrinkled wild fruits from his bag and handing them to the children. "From now on, you should bother her less too. When I become a true warrior of the sea, I'll return and tell her the most amazing stories. Until then..."
Usopp didn't finish, just waved his hand and walked toward the dock with his cloth bag. His steps were heavier than usual, but steady.
"What's wrong with the boss?" Pepper Head scratched his head.
Radish Head nibbled on the wild fruit. "It seems... he's happy for Miss Kaya?"
Onion Head watched Usopp's retreating back and suddenly whispered, "I think the boss feels... that Miss Kaya might not need him to tell her stories every day anymore."
.....
In the mansion.
Ryan lounged lazily in a rattan chair on the terrace, a nearly finished cigar between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily in the sea breeze, drifting toward the distant rose bushes.
Kaya was crouched among the flowers picking blossoms, the hem of her white dress stained with grass, a freshly picked pink rose tucked in her hair as she reached for the most vibrant bloom on a high branch.
Her fingertip was pricked by a thorn, and she instinctively glanced toward Ryan. Seeing that he hadn't noticed, she quietly withdrew her hand, tucking that slight sting into the curve of her smiling lips.
Ryan's gaze swept over Kaya before drifting away indifferently.
Half a month had slipped by unnoticed since he last mentioned leaving. Kaya's pure gentleness, like a cup of cool spring water, had indeed granted him a rare stretch of peaceful days.
Especially that barely concealed restraint of hers—her cheeks flushing crimson, yet she would still lean in gently at his suggestion. That kind of innocent docility, tinged with an unconscious allure, made one crave more with each taste, unknowingly indulging until it became a habit.
A gentle nest is a hero's grave—even the sharpest edges could be worn down here.
But Kaya had been frail since childhood, further weakened by Kuro's drugs. She seemed as delicate as fine porcelain, liable to shatter at a gust of wind. Damaging her would be troublesome, so he couldn't help but handle her with care.
The cigar burned down to its end, scorching his fingertips. Ryan snapped back to reality, crushing the stub against the stone table beside him. The ember sizzled and died.
The sky stretched overhead, a blinding blue so vast it left the heart feeling hollow.
Such days were comfortable, so idle that his bones felt loose. But without a single ripple of excitement, what felt novel at first grew stifling over time.
Truthfully, Ryan should have left long ago. But Kaya was like a spineless dodder plant, silently twining around him. Her words were always soft, her gaze carrying a timid dependence. Each time he prepared to say, "I should go," the moment he met her glistening eyes, the harsh words lodged in his throat.
What was this? Had he been trapped?
Ryan chuckled lowly, a self-mocking edge to the sound. Since when had he become so hesitant?
Pure love was truly something to avoid. Not only did it demand effort and care, but it also made him wonder if the pastries she offered hid unspoken words, or whether her lowered gaze and pursed lips meant shyness or annoyance. This constant testing and measuring was far less satisfying than a straightforward fight.
As the saying went, sincerity was the ultimate weapon.
It was time to leave. If he lingered any longer, it wouldn't be him trapping her—he'd be the one ensnared in this gentle nest.
In the garden, Kaya plucked the most vibrant red rose and cradled it carefully in the crook of her arm. With her other hand, she gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Her shoulder-length golden hair was parted neatly down the middle, the ends slightly curled, accentuating the slender line of her neck. Sunlight fell on her almost translucent skin, scattering a fine layer of gold dust.
Her large brown eyes were especially striking—clear and bright like shallow lakes, the corners tilted upward with a hint of innate innocence.
Just as Kaya rose to head toward the terrace, she looked up and met Ryan's smoke-veiled figure. He lounged in the wicker chair, eyes half-closed and gazing distantly at the horizon. The contours of his profile flickered in and out of clarity through the haze.
The aloofness usually hidden beneath his casual demeanor suddenly sharpened into focus.
Kaya's steps halted. Her fingers tightened slightly around the rose, the soft petals brushing against her palm, yet her heart ached faintly, as if pricked by a thorn.
Her large eyes, always brimming with tender warmth, slowly lowered. Long lashes cast delicate shadows over her eyelids.
It was a long moment before Kaya softly called out "Mr. Ryan," her voice low, carrying a barely perceptible tremor.
Light as if afraid of disturbing something, it had just drifted into the wind when it was swallowed by the rose-scented breeze.
Her voice was so faint, as if fearing to startle something, that it had barely floated into the air before being engulfed by the fragrant currents carrying the scent of roses.