The morning came with nothing planned, which felt like a gift in itself.
There were no sudden storms, no Log Pose shifts to recalculate, and no surprise islands popping up where there had only been water an hour before. The Grand Line seemed calm today, and the crew had learned to enjoy these rare moments rather than wait for trouble.
Luffy and Usopp were at the stern with fishing lines before most people had finished breakfast.
It seemed the contest had started long before Liam even noticed. That was how things went with those two—one would start something, and the other would jump right in. No need for formal rules. Luffy set the terms: whoever caught the biggest fish by the end of the day would win. He announced this as he dropped his line in the water. Usopp accepted the challenge with the determination of someone ready to win, already coming up with reasons why the fish would choose him over Luffy.
So far, the fish were not cooperating with either of them.
Liam exercised near the mikan trees, caught up in stern chatter. Usopp spun new theories; Luffy remained patient, confident. With complete assurance, Luffy gripped his fishing rod. No doubt showed on his face—catching the fish was inevitable. He couldn't leap into the sea, not as a Devil Fruit user, so this rod was his one shot.
At midday, Liam walked over to them.
"I'm entering."
"The contest has rules!" Usopp, immediately. "Established rules. Entry at the start of the day. You missed the start."
"I'm entering anyway."
"You can't just—"
Luffy looked up from his line. He looked pleased. "That's better."
Usopp looked at Liam. Then at Luffy. Then, to the sky, in the way of a person seeking support from an audience that has declined to provide it. "I'm noting this objection formally."
"Noted." He went over the side.
---
The Grand Line underwater was not the same as the East Blue's.
He had spent enough time under the Merry's hull since the adaptation to know the difference. Still, it struck him each time. The East Blue was manageable—smaller, more predictable, and its creatures were suited to a world where people could make a living. The Grand Line was different. Life here had adapted to extremes, not just survival. You could see that everywhere.
He drifted in the ship's wake for a few minutes, watching what moved in the water around him. The light reached just deep enough for the kind of hunting he wanted to do. He was searching for something big—not just large, but Grand Line big, the kind of fish that only this sea could produce.
About twenty minutes in, he found it. It moved through a darker band of water where smaller fish stayed away. It was at least half the Merry's length, broad and strong, moving with the calm of a creature that had been the top predator for so long it had forgotten predators could be replaced.
Liam positioned himself at an angle above the fish, readying his arm and focusing on the exact spot he intended to strike.
He landed a single, clean punch—putting all his strength into the base of the fish's skull. The animal went still instantly, not even realizing what had happened. There was no drawn-out fight. He'd hit tougher things in recent months, and in the end, a fish was still just a fish and luckily not a sea king.
The real work began once the fish was subdued, as Liam gripped its tail firmly and braced against the current.
Dragging the heavy fish through the water took steady effort all the way back to the hull. Fighting against the ship's wake, he felt the weight. The fish weighed more than all the crew and more put together, and the water didn't make it any easier. His arms and shoulders strained. By the time he reached the ship and called for help, he knew he'd earned the catch.
He surfaced.
He called for lines by raising his arm and waving toward the deck, signaling the crew to throw them down.
Usopp's reaction came in two parts. First, disbelief when he saw what Liam had caught. Then, as the crew hauled it up and its size became clear, a sound of total defeat. He had been fishing for six hours and caught several decent fish, but now they didn't matter.
Luffy leaned over the rail, staring at the fish with the look he reserved for anything huge and fascinating. He wasn't thinking about the contest anymore—just the fish itself.
"How did you catch it?" he asked.
"Swam down and hit it."
"Can I try that?"
"You can't." Luffy and the sea didn't mix, so swimming down to punch fish was out of the question. "The rod is the right tool for you."
Luffy accepted this and went back to looking at the fish.
Sanji came out of the kitchen hatch during the commotion. He looked at the catch with the calm focus of a cook who had seen something special and already knew what he would do with it. He started giving instructions on how to position the fish, and everyone followed.
---
The afternoon stayed calm and relaxed. Luffy and Usopp kept fishing until sunset, still determined not to give up, even though they didn't catch anything bigger. The contest was already decided, just waiting for someone to admit it.
At sunset, Luffy accepted the result with his usual easygoing attitude—he found outcomes interesting, not upsetting. He got over the loss in about four seconds and was already asking Sanji about dinner.
Usopp took a bit longer. First, he questioned the contest rules, then asked for a rematch under new conditions, and finally decided that Liam's entry was irregular and that the results would need to be reviewed. He stayed cheerful the whole time. His feelings were real, and so was his recovery.
---
That night's dinner was clearly the result of careful planning—not just technique, but timing. Each part was served at the perfect temperature. Sanji had chosen which parts of the fish to use right away and which to save, making sure nothing was wasted. The crew ate with the focus that great food deserved.
The leftovers were stored in amounts that actually made a difference. The Merry had only had enough supplies for months before this. Now they had reserves that would change how they faced the next part of the Grand Line.
---
Later, the deck was quiet. The mikan trees glowed in the last light of day, and the crew went about their evening routines. Liam sat near the trees because that's where Nami was.
"They're doing well."
She looked at him sideways. "Did you come here to observe the trees specifically?"
"I came here because this is where you are, and the conversation happens to include the trees." He looked at the nearest one — the leaves healthy, the small fruit visible in clusters. "Are they producing yet?"
"Started last week." She reached up and touched one of the unripe fruits. "I wasn't sure they'd take to the ship. Salt air, movement, irregular light—most citrus doesn't like that combination." She paused. "These ones do."
"Your mother grew them well."
She looked at him with the expression she had when something truly reached her. "The roots are the right kind." She paused. "She picked them for the island's conditions. The ship is different, but the trees can adapt."
"Like their keeper."
She made the sound she used when accepting a compliment, both bold and true. "How's your fish?"
"Outstanding. Sanji's performance with it is genuinely impressive."
"He was very focused." A pause. "It was good to see him like that. He's been — focused on other things lately."
"The cooking is what he is." "When he gets material that deserves it, everything else clears."
She looked at the trees for a moment. Then, at an angle he recognized as the approach she used when she meant a question genuinely: "Are you looking forward to Alabasta?"
"In the way I look forward to things that are going to be hard and worth it."
She absorbed this. "Vivi is nervous. She hasn't shown it, but I can tell."
"She has good reason to be. She's been working toward this for two years, and now she's a few days away from it." He looked at the water. "She'll be all right. She's stronger than she knows."
Nami was quiet for a moment. It was the kind of silence that meant she was thinking something through. "She'll have to leave in the end. Her country. She can't just sail away with us."
"She might not leave."
Nami looked at him, her eyes sharp, as if she was weighing new information she hadn't expected.
"Has she told you something?"
"We have a conversation ongoing." He kept his voice easy. "I'm asking you something. If Vivi were to stay on as crew after Alabasta—would you want that?"
She really thought about it, not just pretending. He could see her consider the question in her usual direct way. "She's decent." She paused. "Not just on the surface—actually good, underneath." She glanced at the trees. "Another woman on this ship would be welcome."
"Good to know."
She narrowed her eyes a little. "You're more confident about this than you're letting on."
"I'm optimistic. It's a reasonable position."
She gave him the look she used when she decided not to ask more questions, but remembered what he said. Then she looked back at the fruit, watching the small citrus ripen in the warm evening. Her expression was her own—fond but not sentimental, the way she cared about things she loved.
"She knows you're with her."
Nami made a sound that wasn't quite agreement, more like someone hearing something they needed to hear. It landed just right.
---
"Land ahead!"
Usopp's voice came from the front of the ship, sharp and urgent—the kind of call you make when you've really seen something on the horizon and have to shout before you've even processed it.
The crew and ship were oriented toward it.
On the horizon, something finally appeared after days of sailing: Alabasta. The desert coast. The sky above it looked different from the sky over the sea—brighter, drier, with a light that showed just how little rain the land received.
Vivi was at the rail. She was very still. Carue was close beside her.
Liam watched her gaze at her homeland from the water, at the coastline she'd been trying to reach for two years, and felt how much this moment meant to her.
The ship moved toward it.