…
The Marine I'd sent to the Vale's office returned with a stack of ledgers hugged to his chest like he was delivering his own execution.
Behind him, two more carried a floorboard pried from Vale's office, and beneath it were three hidden compartments of berries, a sealed list of names, and enough proof to make the entire branch stink.
He set it all down in front of me.
Mallor came beside me, eyes scanning the names.
His mouth tightened more with every line.
"How long?" I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
I looked at him.
"Sergeant."
His jaw worked. "Long enough."
I nodded toward the kneeling Marines. "Who helped?"
Mallor looked across the yard, and one by one, his gaze landed on men who suddenly found the dirt very interesting.
"That one handled civilian payment collections," he said, pointing. "That one altered store records. Lieutenant Pask there signed off on medicine refusals. The quartermaster knew. The dockmaster took a cut."
Mallor kept going.
"Some of the younger ones likely did not know the full arrangement. Some knew pieces. Some ignored what they should have questioned."
"And you?"
The yard went quiet around the question.
Mallor didn't flinch, which I respected.
"I knew she was harsh with payments," he said. "I knew civilians were afraid of bringing complaints. I told myself it was branch policy and not my place."
I stared at him for a few seconds longer, then looked away.
"Fine. You're in charge of sorting who gets tied up and who gets to write statements. Anyone who runs, I break their legs. Anyone lies, I break something funnier."
Mallor gave me a look.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said.
"No, say it."
He glanced at Vale again. "Your definition of funny concerns me."
For the next hour, Shellstown's Marine branch became the most traumatised accounting office in the East Blue.
Very efficient, honestly.
Terrible atmosphere now, but great productivity.
Mallor had the decent Marines, or at least the less-rotten ones, drag tables into the yard. The ledgers were opened, and the names were read out. Payment bundles were matched to families, and medicine crates were broken open and counted in front of witnesses from the town, as the villagers had begun gathering beyond the gate by then.
They didn't cheer.
In my head, I think some small, stupid part of me expected it. Not full applause. I wasn't delusional. But maybe relief. Maybe gratitude. Maybe one old man raising a fist and going, "That boy saved us".
Instead, they watched from a distance.
The mothers looked at the medicine first.
Then at me.
The fishermen looked at the sacks of berries.
Then at me.
The village elder from Vale's note stood with both hands clenched around his cane, eyes red, face unreadable. He didn't look happy. He looked like someone had been drowning for months, then got dragged onto shore by something with too many teeth.
Still better than drowning.
Mallor must have noticed it too, because his voice dropped when he stepped beside me.
"They're afraid."
"Wow," I said. "Thanks, Sergeant Emotional Intelligence."
"I'm not mocking you."
"Well, I am. Keep up."
He looked at me with that same disturbed expression from before, but there was something else in it now. Maybe pity, which was gross, actually. I should've punched that out of his face, but I was using restraint.
"You saved the boy," Mallor said.
I watched Toma's mother arrive at the gate, saw her grab him so tightly he nearly dropped the medicine, saw the way she sobbed into his hair while he stood there stiff and shaking.
"Yeah," I said.
"You exposed Vale."
"Yeah."
"And you murdered her in front of everyone."
My jaw tightened.
I looked at Mallor from the corner of my eye. "You trying to arrest me?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he shook his head. "No."
"Smart."
"But the Marines will."
I looked away.
Vale had been corrupt. Vale had been cruel. Vale had ordered a child beaten, then ordered Marines to shoot him. We had ledgers, witnesses, stolen berries, denied medicine, half a town, and enough evidence to bury her reputation under the entire branch.
Didn't matter.
Because she was a Marine captain.
And I was the one who was standing over her body.
The World Government didn't need truth. Truth was expensive, inconvenient, and terrible for morale. They needed a version that fit inside a report.
They needed a traitor.
I could already see it, Petty Officer Kai Voss was revealed as an accomplice in Captain Vale's illegal protection racket. Upon discovery, Voss murdered Captain Vale to conceal his involvement, assaulted loyal Marines, stole branch supplies and funds.
Mallor must have seen it on my face.
"You need to leave," he said quietly.
"I know."
"Soon."
"I know."
"Now, Kai."
That got my attention.
Not Voss.
Kai.
I looked at him properly.
Mallor's face was still pale, still tense, still carrying the image of what I'd done to Vale whether he wanted it or not. But he looked at me like a person anyway.
That was dangerous.
People doing decent things after you've already decided everyone sucks is very inconvenient. It messes with the whole worldview. Rude behaviour.
"You'll help them?" I asked, nodding toward the villagers.
He followed my gaze.
"Yes."
"Medicine first."
"Yes."
"Money back."
"As much as can be proven."
"All of it."
His eyes flicked to mine.
I smiled.
It was not friendly.
Mallor inhaled through his nose. "All of it."
"Good."
I turned toward the storage building. "I'm taking supplies."
"I assumed."
"And a boat."
"I assumed that too."
"And probably some berries."
Mallor sighed. "That would make you a thief."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then, very slowly, his eyes moved toward Vale's body, then the destroyed yard, then the unconscious Marines, then the opened ledgers proving branch-wide extortion.
"Fair," he said.
…
I left Shellstown before sunset.
No final speech. No tearful goodbye from the villagers whose lives I had technically improved through extreme workplace violence. Mallor made sure the medicine was distributed first, and I watched from the edge of the yard while Toma's mother pressed the bundle to her chest and cried so hard her knees nearly gave out.
I didn't have time to say goodbye to my parents, but I'll make sure to see them again soon. I couldn't imagine the looks on their faces, though, hearing about what I did.
Toma never looked at me again.
Not once.
I told myself that was fine.
It wasn't like I needed thanks. I didn't do it for gratitude. I didn't do it to be a hero. I did it because Vale was scum and because something in me snapped when she ordered a kid beaten into the dirt.
Still.
Would've been nice if he looked a little less like I was going to eat him.
Whatever.
Character witnesses are overrated.
Mallor had two Marines carry supplies to the dock for me. Food. Water. Bandages, which were hilarious considering my entire body makes those sorta pointless. A few pouches of berries from Vale's private stash, not the civilian repayment pile, because I might be a criminal, but I had standards.
Low standards, apparently, but standards.
At the dock, Mallor stopped beside the rowboat, and I do mean rowboat.
One tiny wooden boat with two oars, a barrel of water and some food.
I stared at it.
Then at Mallor.
"Be honest with me."
Mallor looked tired. "About what?"
"Do I look like I'm about to start an era?"
He blinked.
Mallor glanced back toward the Marine base. Smoke still rose faintly from the yard where something had caught fire during the fighting. Men were tied near the wall. Others were treating the wounded. Villagers moved in and out under watch, carrying supplies that should have been theirs from the start.
Mallor looked down at the dock. "I'll tell them the truth."
"Do that."
"It may not matter."
"It won't."
He looked at me then, and for the first time, he seemed older than he had in the yard.
"I'm sorry."
That almost made me laugh.
Almost.
"For Vale?" I asked.
"For not acting sooner."
Ah.
That.
I looked away, out across the water, where the evening light cut across the waves like the sea wasn't personally waiting for me to fall in and instantly become a seven-foot pool noodle.
"Yeah," I said. "You should be."
Mallor accepted that with a nod.
I stepped into the boat, immediately hated how much it rocked, and sat down with all the grace of a man trying not to get diffed by basic water physics. Mallor handed me one of the oars.
I took it.
Our hands didn't touch.
"I don't know what they'll call you," he said.
I looked up at him.
"The report," he continued. "The bounty. Whatever comes after this."
I snorted. "Probably something stupid."
"They'll make you the villain."
"Yeah."
"Will you be?"
I looked at him for a long moment.
I just smiled and pushed the boat away from the dock.
The water accepted me with a soft slap against the wood, which I personally considered a threat. The boat drifted out, slow and pathetic, and Mallor stayed on the dock until the distance made him smaller. He lifted one hand.
I didn't wave back at first.
Then I did.
A little.
Barely counts.
Don't make it weird.
…
Three days at sea taught me several things.
One, rowing is cringe.
Two, rowing with a body that can adapt to bullets but not to boredom, is proof that the universe has balance.
Three, I needed a crew immediately.
For friendship.
For dreams.
For found family.
Nah, I just wanted someone else to row.
By the third morning, I was lying on my back in the boat, one arm over my eyes, wondering if dying at sea would be more or less embarrassing than my first death. On one hand, drowning after eating a Devil Fruit was a classic. Very respectable. Culturally relevant. On the other hand, being found floating face-down beside a barrel of half-eaten biscuits would do irreparable damage to the brand I had not agreed to build.
Then something landed on my stomach.
I sat up so fast the boat nearly tipped.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, hey!"
The boat rocked.
My soul left my body, filed a complaint, and came back just in time for me to grab both sides and stabilise.
Perched on the edge of the boat was a news delivery bird.
A big one.
Wearing a little hat.
With a little bag.
In the middle of the ocean.
I stared at it, and it stared back.
"How?" I asked.
The bird tilted its head.
"No, seriously. How did you find me? I don't even know where I am."
The bird stuck out one leg.
A newspaper was tied to it.
I looked at the newspaper.
Then the bird.
Then the empty ocean around us.
"Are you the government? Is this surveillance? Do all birds work for Morgans? Blink twice if the press is truly a global intelligence network."
The bird did not blink twice.
Suspicious.
I untied the paper anyway.
The bird immediately pecked my hand.
"Ow! Bro, I'm broke."
It pecked again. "Fine! Here."
I dug through one of the pouches, pulled out a coin, and held it up.
The bird snatched it, then lifted off the boat and flew away.
I watched it go.
"Sure," I muttered. "Bird DoorDash. Why not?"
Then I opened the newspaper.
At first, I skimmed. Pirate movements. Marine statements. Some article about a noble wedding I could not possibly care less about. Weather warnings. Trade routes. A big picture of some guy with a moustache.
Then a folded sheet slipped out from between the pages and landed on my lap.
I stared at the back of it.
Wanted.
I turned it over.
There I was.
Not a great picture, to be honest. Eyes a little too wild. Honestly, not my worst angle, but definitely not LinkedIn material. Above the image, in thick black letters, was my name.
Under it, the title.
"BRANCHBREAKER" (I couldn't think of anything else :P)
DEAD OR ALIVE
I stared.
Then I blinked.
Then I read the bounty.
฿50,000,000
…
End of Chapter!
Word Count - 2051