A Legacy of Salt and Steel
Chapter 3 - Fruits of Parting
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Merria was already waiting when 'Amy' stepped down the stairs, back in her usual clothes with her carrier box firmly wrapped around her hips.
She sat by the salt barrels, next to the door, apron still tied, a half-peeled starfruit in one hand, blade in the other. The scent of citrus clung to the air. On the table in front of her, a bundle wrapped in cloth. Her eyes lifted at the sound of approaching steps, but she didn’t smile. Not yet. Just took one last stroke of the knife and flicked the rind onto the table.
"You’re really going, then," she said through bites of the fruit, not looking up right away. There was a tightness in the rumble of her voice, like a rope was coiled around her neck.
'Amy' paused at the base of the stairs, fingers tensing against the box’s handle, then nodded. "Tide’s good. The Red Hair Pirates leave soon."
A pause stretched between them like taut rope. The wind chime at her open window sang. If she strained her ears, she could almost hear the pirates arguing as they prepared the ship—the clatter of rope, the thud of boots against wood, a burst of laughter.
"I—"
"You—"
They looked at each other, a smile almost twisting 'Amy’s' lips. A silence a little awkward, both opening and closing their mouths, before she gestured to Merria to start first.
"You didn’t have to forage redroots," Merria said, spitting the seeds into a tin cup. "I never thanked you yesterday, so I’m doing it now. Thank you."
"It’s... to make sure that I’ll miss you." Her answer was a tease wrapped in a half-truth, and she winced softly at her own honesty.
A smile. Wry. Pained.
She wasn’t good at this, was she? She’d always preferred leaving fast, making the goodbye simple and as uncomplicated as possible—when she lingered long enough for them. But now, she didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t know how to say goodbye to things that were kind and soft without pain.
The younger woman’s mouth opened, closed again. Then, finally: "...You didn’t have to speak for me. To him."
"I know."
"But you did."
Merria’s gaze didn’t waver. "Someone had to."
Simple truths that warmed her chest with something that felt like affection and knotted her throat with something else. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t let them spill. She looked down at her hands instead. Her knuckles were pale from how tightly she held the folded scrap of paper. The note she wasn’t sure would ever be read—but she’d written it anyway.
"In case they come looking here," she said softly, holding it out. "Give them this. It’s short. It just says that I’m alive and where I’m going. Aimi and Arioso, they..."
She faltered for a second. How could she describe them in a few words when they deserved hundreds? Fools that should have left instead of staying? People who are everything she is not? Far more deserving of every kindness, softness and sweetness than she ever would. One carried the kind of hope she no longer dared to hold. The other, foolish enough to walk beside her without flinching.
Hers.
"You’ll recognize them immediately," she said at last. "They don’t know how to blend in."
Merria took it without asking for more details—perhaps understanding her more than 'Amy' would have liked. She tucked it into her apron pocket and nodded. "I’ll keep it safe."
She hesitated, again, then exhaled—not just breath, but the tension in her spine. It was something that needed to be said.
"I’ve had people speak for me before," she said, meeting her eyes, hoping whatever she would see would convey her gratitude. "But mostly to condemn. To mark me, or cast me out, or shut me up."
Merria said nothing.
'Amy' insisted, despite the part of her that screamed to stop revealing so much of herself. "You didn’t have to care. You could’ve just let me be a stranger passing through. But you didn’t."
A long moment passed before Merria said, very softly: "It wasn’t needless."
She blinked.
"I don’t have a daughter," Merria added, voice steadier now. "But if I did... I’d want her to be the kind of fool who’d patch up a boat just to chase something she believed in."
Her throat caught. She looked away quickly, blinking hard. Her fingertips curled against the grain of the box.
‘Amy’ hoped no one had to be like her.
"I’ll come back someday," she said quietly because it was easier than a definite goodbye. "If I can."
Merria’s mouth twitched. "If you do, I’ll make you scrub every barrel in the cellar."
"That’s not much of a threat."
"You’ve never seen my cellar."
'Amy' cocked a brow. "I’m pretty sure it’s currently empty.”
Merria huffed. They both stood there a moment longer, suspended in something gentle. Then Merria reached out—not for a hug, not exactly, but to smooth a seashell charm that had come loose from one of her braids.
“You’d better go before you’re left behind.” She said. “I’ll come with you to the docks.”
She supposed there haven't been people who lingered for as long as she did for quite some time. Merria wasn’t good at saying goodbye either.
They walked the path of stone together, wind at their backs, each footstep pulling her toward the sea and all its danger.
The docks glimmered in the newborn light—soft and opaline, like the underside of a seashell. The tide murmured low and steady against the pylons, and the breeze carried the faint hush of windchimes still half-asleep.
The Red Force sat anchored in the bay, its shadow long across the water. Crew moved quietly aboard, the kind of practiced morning stillness that belonged to people who’d sailed together for years.
The ship had its own built-in stairs. Fancy.
She walked toward it, box swaying with each of her steps, goosebumps rolling down her arms—the morning’s chills settling in her bones. She kept her eyes ahead, steps sure. She didn’t expect anyone to come see her off.
And yet—
Her steps slowed. Beside her, Merria laughed quietly. “Told you.”
There they were. Just off to the side near a stack of fishing crates: a small, unassuming group.
A few familiar faces from the village—the older merchant she’d helped with his stall, a girl who’d watched her retrieve her kite. A mother with a younger boy and a basket of sea beans. And the children.
She stopped. Heart beating too loudly.
It was the smallest one who ran first—bare feet slapping wood, hair tangled with sleep. “You’re really leaving!” she called, arms flailing a bit too wide.
‘Amy’s chest tingled with warmth and something a little bit painful. She crouched slightly, catching her with one hand to steady her. “I told you I might.”
If her voice was hoarse, the little girl didn’t detect it.
A second girl approached, more solemn, holding out a crooked palm-leaf charm shaped like a fish. It had already started to unravel. “We made it for luck,” she said, serious as a priest.
‘Amy’ took it like it was gold and tucked it into her shirt, right above her heart. “Then it’ll work.”
The boy stepped forward, shoving the sea beans at her. “For the road. Mom says thanks for playing with us.”
She shook her head. “You keep those. She’ll need the rest for drying.”
He hesitated. Then gave a shy nod and clutched the basket tighter.
Behind them, one of the older women pressed her hands together. Not a wave. Not quite a prayer. Just a silent gesture of respect.
No one asked where she was going.
No one tried to stop her.
But they were here. And she hadn’t expected that.
She stood, brushing her fingers along one girl’s hair, then another’s shoulder. “You’ll look after the tide pools for me?” she asked.
They all nodded, solemn and small.
‘Amy’ stepped back, her hands light at her sides.
She didn’t say goodbye.
Instead, she gave them a look—one they’d remember when the fish ran late or the wind changed. The kind of look that says: You were seen.
And then she turned toward the ship.
Merria was waiting next to it, arms wrapped around a bundle before handing it to her—pushing it into her arms, really. Like she knew ‘Amy’ would protest. “There is food in there—smoked fish, a few starfruits, and bread. For your breakfast. And a coat, if you get cold.”
“You shouldn’t-”
“I know. You’ve already said that.”
“I— Thank you.” She choked on the words, bowing deeply because it was the only way she knew how to show it.
A hum.
“You thank people like you never expect kindness from them.” Her hands wrapped around her shoulders, dragging her upright. ‘Amy’ wrapped her fingers around her wrists, squeezing. Merria’s voice lowered. “Sail smart. Don’t let them charm you too quick.”
“They’re pirates.” She scoffed, a little wet near the edge.
Merria smirked. “So are you for now.”
They exchanged a smile. ‘Amy’ let go.
She climbed the stairs in silence, her boots steady on the worn planks. The sea beyond waited, all open blue and hush. And just before stepping aboard, she turned once.
The children waved. Merria lifted two fingers in farewell, her other hand pressed against her chest.
‘Amy’ didn’t smile. But her fingers brushed the charm against her breast as she adjusted the bundle in her arm. A quiet thanks. Then she stepped aboard the Red Force.
And Shellmere exhaled behind her.
When her feet landed on the deck, it felt like stepping into a different world.
The first thing she noticed was the silence.
Not a real one—the ship breathed with movement: boots thudded against decks, rigging creaked, a gull screamed from a masthead. But it was a comfortable silence. Familiar. The kind that came from people who’d fought together, bled together, drank too much together and still woke up knowing which rope to pull and when.
No one looked twice when she stepped aboard.
She had expected stares. Questions. Suspicion. Perhaps, even threats. Instead, they flowed around her like water around a rock. Some nodded. One younger deckhand with green-dyed beads in his hair offered her a crooked half-smile and a wink, trying to be charming.
That was all. It was unsettling.
Had their captain made an announcement?
She adjusted her grip on the bundle to free a hand, jaw tight.
The Red Force smelled like rum, old wood, and faintly of smoke. Sun-warmed planks creaked under her boots, and somewhere aft, someone was singing off-key. She felt it in her ribs, in the ache of her fingers and the tension of her shoulders—this ship moved. It had weight. Rhythm.
It was not a place for passengers.
So she kept her spine straight, her gaze ahead. Not meek. Not confrontational. Just present.
“You missed the welcome parade,” came a voice behind her, low and far too pleased with itself.
She turned, pulse jumping. The familiarity of the tone set her nerves alight.
Shanks leaned against a mast, tired eyes, black coat slung over his shoulders, his stance careless, his smile anything but. He hadn’t changed his clothes. They were rumpled, slept-in.
He looked like the kind of man who made peace with hangovers by ignoring them.
She hummed softly to herself. Perhaps, they were all hangovered and couldn’t really tell that she wasn’t part of them.
“I heard confetti’s out of season,” she replied, voice low, guarded but dry. A flick of her eyebrow betrayed just a flicker of dry wit beneath the weariness.
“Pity.” He stretched slowly, like a cat in the morning sun, then strolled toward her like the deck belonged to him—lazy, sure and too confident for his own good. “You’ve got a thing for dramatic exits. I figured you’d enjoy a matching entrance.”
She said nothing. Just watched him approach, her expression unreadable, with eyes still salted from leaving. Her lips pressed into a line too thin to be mistaken for anything kind. Still, she relaxed the muscles.
The captain liked to tease—that much was certain—and it seemed he took it upon himself to see how far he could push before truly bothering her. She almost clacked her tongue against her teeth but it would satisfy him too much.
He slowed, eyes sharp beneath the grin, taking her in the way one would assess a storm cloud. “You brought a box.”
“I travel light.” Her voice cut, a little brittle at the edges. Reminding him of their conversation last night.
He squinted at it, amused. “Looks heavy for light.”
“Only what I can carry.”
“Only what you’re willing to lose?” he asked, like it was nothing. A thought tossed on a breeze. He reached out, almost absently, fingers brushing toward the box’s lid.
Her hand slammed down against it, fast as a thrown knife, knuckles white. “Only what I’ll fight to keep.”
That froze the air for a moment.
His mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a grin—it had too much teeth. “There she is.”
That made her blink. Her throat tightened around something unspoken. “What?”
He didn’t answer. His gaze lingered a second longer, reading her with something too shrewd to be casual, then jerked his chin toward a small barrel set by the galley door. “Roo left you breakfast. There’s fruit and bread in there. Might want to grab it before Monster remembers he’s hungry again.”
The sudden shift in tone knocked her off balance. She followed his gesture, then shook her head, gesturing to the bundle in her arm. “I’ve already got enough. Merria made sure of it.”
Her voice held no softness. Not cold, but final. A quiet rebuff with teeth behind it. The kind of tone used to keep walls high and hands off.
His brow lifted. “Refusing breakfast on principle?”
He sounded dramatically offended. He didn’t look like it.
“On preparation.” Her fingers flexed against the box’s grain. “And I don’t like taking more than I can repay.”
He let out a breathy laugh—half surprise, half admiration. “You’re going to have a hard time sailing with pirates, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. She almost bristled on principle. It was too casual. A tease with claws he would use at specific times, when he was mocking her. A man used to be liked even when he shouldn't be.
“I’m not sailing with you,” ‘Amy’ corrected—argued really because letting him have the last word felt like chewing glass. “I’m just passing through.”
His grin curled wider, then faded into something quieter. Measured. “So you’re sure about it?”
It sounded like he was testing her resolve, verifying that she hadn’t changed her mind in the course of a few hours. As if she hadn’t been stewing for days.
She met his gaze, chin lifting a fraction. “I don’t change course mid-tide.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
That stopped her. Just for a beat.
The wind stirred at the strands of her hair unbound by braids. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to read the shape of the trap beneath his words before cocking a brow in a way that said ‘It’s the only answer you’ll have’.
He gave no further push. Just jerked his thumb toward the far end of the ship. “Find Benn Beckman before you settle in. He’s the one who makes sure nobody kills each other. Or sets the ship on fire. Or sneaks extra rations.”
“Is that an official role?” she asked dryly, almost under her breath.
“Ship nanny,” Shanks said with mock solemnity, then broke the facade with a crooked grin. “He’ll love you.”
“I doubt that.”
A beat passed. Shanks gave a little nod, barely more than a tilt of his chin—approval, or acknowledgment, or maybe just a pirate emperor saying ‘we’ll see’.
Then he walked off, whistling something tuneless as if they hadn’t just traded knives in velvet. ‘Amy’ watched him go, that lazy gait vanishing past the rigging, swallowed by the ship’s rhythm.
Of course he left it to someone else. Of course he didn’t explain a damn thing.
She exhaled slowly, drawing the sea into her lungs and holding it there. Her fingers brushed the fish-charm tucked under her shirt. One last tether to shore. She released the breath and squared her shoulders.
Right. Benn Beckman.
She’d seen him once or twice on wanted posters—tall, calm, salted hair. His bounty had reached one billion belies but she didn’t have the exact number. Truth to be told, she didn’t care to remember once they’ve exceeded the five hundred millions, it was easier to just not cross them.
He looked like the kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed. She imagined him to be like the stillness before lightning struck.
She passed a group of crewmates coiling rope, and they barely looked up. No questions. No raised brows. No interest. Just seamless movement—each person part of the ship, and the ship a body of its own. She didn’t know where she fit inside it yet. Didn’t know if she wanted to.
Strange crew.
The stairs leading up to the quarterdeck creaked beneath her boots. A sea breeze tugged at her hair, and a gull screamed above, circling the mast. She caught movement near the stern rail—broad shoulders, salt-streaked hair, the ember-tip of a cigarette glowing in the shade.
There you are.
She’d expected someone hardened around the edges. The kind of first mate who barked orders and kept a rifle slung across his back like a threat. With a captain like theirs, they would need that to keep the ship afloat.
Instead, she found a man leaning against the rail, sleeves rolled past his elbows, one hand resting casually against the wood, the other holding his cigarette between two fingers. Watching the horizon like it was something that needed guarding.
At ease.
He looked like a man who carried weight quietly. A man who didn’t posture. Didn’t chase attention. He simply was.
His arms were the first thing she noticed—solid, weathered, freckled faintly by the sun. The shirt stretched over his arms just enough to make her pause, not tight, just revealing. Appealing. The kind of strength that came with years on the sea—roped muscle, forearms traced with veins, hands that had worked too much to ever be called soft.
The kind of strength that could hold the ship together with his bare hands if it came to it.
She slowed—not from fear exactly, but from wariness. She didn’t know how this man judged. Only that he did.
She stopped a few feet away and cleared her throat. “Shanks said I should find you.”
His head turned slightly, just enough to glance at her over one shoulder. His expression was unreadable. A puff of smoke drifted sideways with the wind.
“Did he now,” he said.
Not a question. Not quite a welcome either. More like an inevitability laced in quiet suffering. He didn’t look surprised.
Somewhere below, Shanks hollered for departure. The last ropes were secured, the sails swelled and ‘Amy’ made sure to keep her eyes on the first mate. Some of the pirates leaned against the side, waving their goodbyes.
A quiet affair so unlike their arrival.
The ship swayed slightly.
‘Amy’ straightened. “He said you keep the ship from burning down.”
A twitch of the mouth. Amusement, maybe. Or warning. “Someone’s got to.”
She shifted her weight. The deck here felt firmer. Higher. Like standing at the edge of something.
“I’m not here long,” she added quickly. “Just passage. I won’t be in the way.”
“You say that like you’ve been on a pirate ship before.” He finally turned toward her fully, smoke trailing from his fingers. His gaze swept her once, not leering—just assessing. Noting how she held herself, how tightly she gripped that box, where her scars sat and where they didn’t.
‘Amy’ didn’t flinch. “No. But I’ve been in places where being invisible was the only way to stay breathing.”
A beat. Then Benn nodded, slowly. “Good instinct. Won’t help much here.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“Because no one on this ship stays invisible for long. Not even the ghosts.”
He flicked his cigarette overboard, watching the ember trail vanish into the blue. Then he jerked his chin toward the side rail. “There’s a spare bunk near the forward hold. Not fancy, but it’s dry. You’ll be on rotation with the rest.”
“I didn’t agree to work.”
“You didn’t say you wouldn’t.” He met her eyes. Calm. Steady. Like driftwood after the storm. “Everyone does something. Or they don’t stay.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was gravity. And she stilled her tongue before the urge to say something challenging moved it for her. Something like ‘What? You’re going to throw me overboard?’
She nodded once. “Understood.”
“You cook?”
“I can boil water.” She shrugged. She could cook like every adult could, not perfect but enough to survive and take a little bit of pleasure out of eating it.
It didn’t convince him, though. “Then you’re swabbing decks. At least until Roo takes pity and steals you.”
He turned, already done with the conversation.
‘Amy’ started to step away, then hesitated. “You’re not going to ask my name?”
He paused. Looked at her again. “I figured you’d tell us when it matters.”
Then he walked off—quiet, certain, without looking back.
What a man. The thought felt like an exhale, traitorous but rang true in her soul.
She stood alone for a moment after he walked away, the deck gently swaying beneath her boots. The wind tugged at her hair. Somewhere above, a gull shrieked and wheeled into the wind.
That was it. No questions. No judgment. No performance. Just a man who named what needed naming and left the rest alone.
She hadn’t realized how much she needed that.
Not charm. Not provocation. Not the teasing edge Shanks wielded like a blade. Just stillness. Certainty. Space to breathe.
Her fingers relaxed around the handle of the box.
She didn’t trust anyone here—not really. But if she had to pick someone to watch her back when the sea turned, she already knew who it would be.
Not the emperor with the grin but the man with the match and the silence.
She’d made it halfway across the deck, mop rasping over sun-split planks that had soaked in as much rum as the pirates who walked them. Her hair was wrapped in her headband, sleeves rolled. The bucket sloshed as the ship shifted—steady, predictable motion. She found herself adjusting to it faster than expected.
“Miss Amy?”
The voice caught behind her. She turned.
Kaito was approaching with a loose smile and a coil of rope slung over one shoulder. His shirt was the same as the day before — too big, too open, sleeves damp from work. His spiky ponytail bounced like punctuation. His whole face lit up.
“I didn’t think you were coming with us,” he said, blinking. “Didn’t even see you board.”
‘Amy’ gave him a short nod, wiping her brow. “You were distracted.”
“Yeah, probably.” He scratched at his cheek, still looking surprised. “So... what are you doing here? Thought you lived in Shellmere.”
She kept her tone even. “No. I was just passing through.”
That gave him pause. He squinted at her, like trying to see the full shape of something just beyond his reach. “So you’re sailing with us?”
“For now.”
Kaito blinked, processing that. “With the crew?”
“No.” A touch flat, but not unfriendly. “Not part of the crew.”
There was a beat. Just long enough. He laughed—a little too fast, a little too relieved. “Right. Obviously. Just—saw you with the mop and figured…”
The smile stayed, but it faltered just at the edges. His weight shifted, almost like he’d braced for something else. His shoulders loosened.
He didn’t say it—wouldn’t. But it showed.
She caught the flicker: the way his posture subtly uncoiled, the small breath he didn’t seem to know he was holding.
He’d struggled to get on this ship.
And she hadn’t. Or at least, to him, it didn’t look like she had.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the handle, thumb brushing it in soft circles.
She looked at him with unreadable calm and eyes too sharp. “It needed doing.”
Kaito blinked. “Sure, but... you know you didn’t have to, right? You could’ve said no.”
Her breath stuttered in something close to a scoff, she disguised it as a cough. As if she could’ve said no to the first mate’s direct order. But it suited her all the same. It didn’t feel like charity but an exchange of favors.
“I mean—you’ve got your own thing going on,” he added, motioning to the carrier. “Didn’t expect to see you scrubbing the deck.”
Her hand drifted toward the strap digging into her hips. She adjusted it once, then let it be.
“You could put it down,” Kaito offered, stepping a little closer. “Might help with your form.”
Her brows twitched.
He plowed on, clearly trying to sound casual—charming, even. “I mean, you’ve got good form, but you want to keep your strokes a little shorter. Less back strain that way.” He pantomimed a shorter sweep with his hand. “Roo taught me that after I almost pulled something near the galley stairs.”
Of course he had a tip. They always did. A little adjustment. A little suggestion. And always, always with the smile that made it feel like a gift.
Her expression didn’t shift much. Maybe a flicker of something at the corner of her mouth—not a grimace. Not quite.
“I’ll manage,” she said.
Kaito rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just—trying to help.”
She gave him a look. Measured. Patient. “I know.”
He seemed to take that as permission to keep going. “It’s just… yesterday, you were different. Calmer. Quieter.”
She leant against the mop a little bit, tilting her head. Oh, this should be good. “You mean softer?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you were thinking it.” She answered like it was a fact, like she caught him.
Kaito adjusted his grip on the rope, throwing a glance behind his shoulder. The movement almost hid his wince. “Not in a bad way. I just meant... this is new.”
“People can be more than one thing,” she said lightly but her tone betrayed the morbid fascination of watching someone digging his own grave and then digging deeper.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, just curious—what made you come with us?”
The question hung there. Easy. Casual. But not harmless.
“I had a direction,” she said. “Your ship was already pointed that way.”
He blinked, letting that settle. “That’s... kind of poetic.”
She didn’t answer.
Another glance toward her box.
“What’s in there?” he asked, more careful this time. “You don't want to put it down?”
A pause. A sharper look, cautious.
“Things I need,” she said. “Things I can’t lose.”
His smile dimmed slightly—not gone, just softened at the edges. “Makes sense.” He took a breath, searching for something safer to say. “Well, it suits you,” he offered. “Carrying your life like that.”
She wrung the mop, wondered if he was like that with all the women he met or if he was trying to be something he wasn’t in front of her. She kind of felt bad for him. Whatever it was, he wasn’t very good at it.
He lingered a moment. “Just so you know—if you get tired or someone gives you trouble, I’ve got your back. You helped me.”
“You dropped things.”
“And you picked them up. That counts.”
Her lip twitched. Just a little.
Kaito beamed, encouraged. “Anyway, welcome aboard. If you get seasick, Roo’s got ginger chews hidden in his bunk—says they’re for everyone, but he hoards ‘em. And don’t let him talk you into cleaning the galley stove. That thing’s cursed. Swear it hissed at me once.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ll take my chances.”
Kaito grinned again, almost proud of himself. Then with a jaunty half-salute, he added, “Back to my watch. Holler if you need pirate expertise.”
And with that, he swaggered off—rope bouncing against his hip, ponytail flapping behind him. On the way, a man clapped his shoulder and dragged him aside while snickering.
‘Amy’ watched him go. Pirate expertise.
It was almost laughable—the pride, the confidence, the gall. But then—
Her eyes caught movements tainted in red. The wind brushed his hair with a kind of attention only befallen on lovers.
—With that kind of captain, even she would believe herself to be bigger than she is.
She dipped the mop again, the water sloshed in the bucket. ‘Amy’ worked without hurry, without mind. Her hands moved, but her thoughts wandered.
She’d met men like Kaito before—kind, loud, helpful. The sort who couldn’t stop trying to smooth what didn’t need smoothing. The sort who thought teaching her how to mop was kindness. And maybe it was to him.
But she didn’t need kindness that came with instruction.
Didn’t need reminders that even here—even now—she was being explained.
Kaito believed he was doing something good for someone he believed weaker, more ignorant. And that belief, that easy warmth, that bright grin—
It was the kind that could wear you down. Could make you believe you were safe. And that was the real danger. Because part of her almost believed it despite knowing that he was wrong.
She paused, leaning on the mop, wrist flexing slightly. Her gaze swept the deck—the mess of it, the ease, the casual laughter that came not from politeness but familiarity.
A sigh.
Around her, the crew moved in bursts—loud, off-key, and always moving. A handful of men were lowering barrels down to the hold while arguing about whether salted lemons counted as fruit or seasoning. Someone was playing a tune on a cracked flute that sounded like a seagull in pain. Nobody told him to stop. Another sat half-asleep on a coil of rope, nodding along with no rhythm at all.
A few started to bring out tables and chairs.
It should’ve looked like a mess. But it didn’t. They were loud, brash, mismatched—and somehow, they made it work. Like tide and wind and torn sails all conspiring to keep the ship moving forward.
They didn’t look like pirates. They looked like idiots.
But they were idiots who knew each other. Idiots who, somehow, trusted one another enough to fall asleep in full sun with their back to the rest of the world.
She could almost see Arioso in the corner, dramatizing their lives into verse that no one asked for. Could hear Aimi trying to be helpful while accidentally making things worse—smiling sheepishly after breaking someone’s knife or mixing herbs in the wrong barrel.
Her throat tightened briefly as the revelation unraveled softly in her mind. She missed them. Not like a hole in her chest—not yet. But like a tightness just under her her ribs. A phantom ache.
It made her look away. The sea stretched out in all directions—too wide. Too quiet.
“Deep thoughts?” The voice came lazily, off her shoulder.
Right. What did Beckman say again? Something about the impossibility of invisibility on the ship.
She stopped the sigh before it could escape her. She glanced sideways.
She knew him too. Not as infamous as the first mate or his captain but just as dangerous. Black hair in tight curls, skin just a tad lighter than hers, broad-shouldered like most men of the sea. Trademark twin pistols swayed on his belt.
Yasopp leaned against a barrel nearby, cup in hand, watching her like he’d been there a while. His smile was casual if not sharp near the edges.
“Not really.” She straightened herself and was surprised to realize they reached the same height.
“Admiring our fine naval coordination then?”
“You all move like you’ve done this forever.”
“We have,” Yasopp replied, crossing his legs at the ankle. “More or less.”
She hummed softly and wrung the mop to continue her work. They were starting to put out the food now. Wafts of appetizing smells reached her. Her stomach rumbled softly, not enough to be heard but enough to warn her.
“Didn’t realize we took volunteers,” he added, watching her work. “Usually takes at least two weeks before anyone offers to clean something.”
“I didn’t offer,” she said drily.
“Ah. So this is a power move. Establishing dominance through deck scrubbing. Bold.”
She didn’t bother correcting him, it was easier that way. It didn’t prevent him from continuing. If anything, it encouraged him to be an even bigger nuisance.
He took a sip, watching her over the rim of his cup. “Let me guess. You’re the strong, silent, brooding type. Mysterious past. Nothing to lose. Probably stabbed a man once for looking at you wrong.”
‘Amy’ rolled her eyes and dipped the mop again, ignoring him.
He nodded. “Yeah. Thought so. That’s the kind of mop technique you don’t teach.”
She finally glanced at him. “You always this chatty with the help?”
“Oh, only when they look like they’re trying not to murder the deck.”
A smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth, but she swallowed it down when she promptly tripped on a rope that she swore wasn’t there before. Caught herself right before she tipped over the bucket and splashed the whole deck.
Yassop snorted. Loudly. Uglily. While ‘Amy’ fought to keep the blush at bay.
“Don’t worry,” he said between two giggles, like watching someone almost fall was the most hilarious thing in the world. “You’ll get used to the mess. Took me years to realize no one here’s got a damn clue what they’re doing—they’re just too drunk to care.”
“And you’re not?” She cleared her throat. “Comforting. At least someone will be sober enough to stir the ship.”
“Don’t count on it. Anyway,” he leaned in a little like he was letting her in on a secret, “word of advice? If you’re trying to impress anyone, stop. It’s suspicious.”
“I’m not,” she said, ears still burning from her misshape.
She wasn’t often prone to such a thing.
“Good. You’re terrible at it.” He tipped his cup to her. She watched the content slosh over the edge, take a leap of faith and splash the freshly washed deck. “But points for effort. Deck hasn’t looked this clean since we spilled that rum barrel in '22.”
She stared at the spill dispassionately.
“Ah. My bad.”
Her eyes traveled the length of the man, took note of his weapons, and vividly imagined all the ways she could strangle the smile out of his face. People have died for less.
Instead, she settled for: “Explain the smell.”
Yasopp paused, one brow lifting—just enough to show he heard it. He chuckled low, without turning back. “Careful. You keep talking like that, I might start to like you.”
“That smell,” came a new voice, “was fungal. We had to burn three mops after that and still couldn’t get rid of the scent.”
‘Amy’ turned slightly.
Hongo strolled up, coat flapping in the wind and showing his abs—nice—a linen-wrapped bundle tucked under one arm and a cup in his hand. He eyed the deck like it might still be infected.
Yasopp made a mock-wince. “Don’t ruin the nostalgia, Doc.”
“I still have the fungal sample,” Hongo replied dryly. “It’s growing.”
‘Amy’ arched her brow, impressed and disgusted in equal measures. “From the rum?”
Hongo gave her a nod of approval. “From the mop. But yes. Rum was involved.”
Yasopp chuckled, stepping aside to give the medic space. “You here to scold her too?”
“I’m not in charge of morale,” Hongo said, leveling a look at her face. “But I am in charge of keeping people from scrubbing themselves raw.”
She straightened. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sweating and you haven’t drank anything since who knows when.” He pushed the cup into her hand. “You haven’t eaten either.”
He’d been watching her.
“I don’t need—”
“Doesn’t matter. Roo said if you collapse, he’s not sharing his ginger chews. And frankly, I don’t want to explain to Benn why the mystery guest fainted mid-deck.”
Yasopp snorted. “Mystery guest. That's generous.”
She shot them both a flat look. “I’m working on a task the first mate gave me.”
“Yes,” Hongo said calmly, “and now you’re pausing on the order of the doctor.”
He stepped forward and set the wrapped parcel on a nearby crate. “Pickled cabbage. Salted rice. No ginger chews. I’m not spoiling you.”
Yasopp unwrapped the bundle before Hongo slapped his hand away. “Hey, she gets pickled cabbage? I got dried fish for three months straight when I joined.”
“You complained more,” The medic said without missing a beat.
“I was hungry!”
“You were dramatic.”
She looked between them—the banter, the lack of ceremony—and something in her posture eased, though she didn’t move from the mop.
“You lot always like this?” she muttered.
They thought ‘loud’, ‘lively’, even ‘charming’ in Yassop’s case while she meant ‘disgusting’ and ‘exhausting’.
“Absolutely,” Yasopp said proudly, two fists on his hips.
“No off switch,” Hongo added with the same gusto while her shoulders crumpled in disappointment. “But you’ll get used to it.”
She had a terrible feeling that the three day trip was going to feel much longer. “I won’t be here long.”
They both shrugged.
Yasopp raised his cup. “Neither were some of us. Once.”
That hung in the air a moment, just long enough to feel it turn foreboding. A shiver ran down her back. “That sounds like a threat.”
Yasopp grinned. “Only if it works.”
She stared at him. Unmoved.
He sipped. “Relax. We don’t do forced recruitment. It’s bad for morale. And worse for drinking schedules.”
“Good to know.”
“You’re still scrubbing the deck though.”
“Wonderful.” She said flatly.
Yassop’s cackles stopped short when wafts of food reached his nostrils. He sniffed once, deeply and promptly left them to join the tables.
“You can sit with us to eat.” Hongo said, turning on his heels. “But you strike me as someone who would rather not.”
She didn’t give an answer, merely watching him join the flock of people around the table before her eyes moved to the food.
After a moment, she reached for it. Steam curled around her fingers. Salt and vinegar. Brine and starch. Real food. Hearty and humble.
She sat back on her heels and ate slowly, alone.
No Arioso rambling. No Aimi hovering nearby, pretending not to worry. And more recently, no Merria to share the meals with.
Just the sea. And the sound of a crew that didn’t ask questions—but noticed everything anyway.
She should have known her peace couldn’t last.
The sea was calm, sails shifting like breath overhead. ‘Amy' had tucked herself near the forecastle rail, coiling a line of rope into crisp loops. Her carrier box propped beside her as always. The warmth of the sun pressed into her back; salt and old wood filled the air.
Then came the creak of boots and the unmistakable sound of chewing.
Kaito plopped down opposite her, a half-eaten bowl of candied ginger in hand and all the confidence of someone with no idea how close they stood to a knife’s edge.
“You know,” he said between chews, “you’re lucky.”
She gave him a glance. Not agreement. Not denial.
“First pirate ship, and it’s this one?” He popped another ginger. “Some crews’ll rob you blind before they even say hello.”
She flicked a coil into place. “Lucky me.”
He beamed, mistaking her dryness for rapport. “Figured someone should warn you. The sea’s full of monsters—not just the ones under it.”
A cheer broke out across the deck. Someone had climbed a barrel, waving a mop like a sword. Another pirate threw a fruit rind at him.
“Mm,” she murmured. “And you’re what—seasoned?”
“Three months.” He grinned, proud. “Almost.”
She blinked, slowly. “Ah. Veteran.” Red-haired let people that green on his deck?
He rolled his eyes, reading a tease in her words. “Long enough to know what I’m talking about.” He popped another candy. “Like—obviously the pirates. Some are real pieces of work. But the bounty hunters? Some are worse than pirates.”
She hummed, looping the rope tighter. “Go on, then.”
“So—get this,” Kaito paused, for dramatic effect. “There’s this guy Wasp,” he began, gesturing with a ginger cube. “Wears a seastone whip and no shirt. Claims he took down a Baroque Works sleeper agent by setting his ship on fire. Also apparently allergic to shirts.”
She quirked a brow. “Sounds like a liability.”
“Then there’s Sister Mercy—real sweet voice, poison in the wine. They say she took out two captains and blessed the corpses.”
A pause. She rolled a knot over one palm, thumb circling slowly.
“And Tansen the Flame hates sails. Doesn’t even check the bounties. Lit a merchant fleet over a carved Jolly Roger once.”
“Unstable.” She hummed softly. “You’re making these up.”
He grinned. “I wish. Oh—then there’s Junpei. No face, no trace. Leaves a little koi card. Creepy, but… clean.”
She blinked. That one was new.
Then he dropped it. “But the one everyone talks about? Sina.”
That earned him a flick of the eyes. Barely a twitch. But her hands slowed.
She was listening.
“Sina the Monster Hunter,” he added with low theatrics.
The name settled over them like a thundercloud.
She kept coiling. Rhythm unchanged. But Kaito had noticed the interest.
“She’s the real deal,” he went on. “Not the strongest. But she took down Captain Varnak. Varnak. Five hundred million. Brutal bastard. Axe the size of a barrel. That’s how she got the nickname.”
Her gaze didn’t lift, but her hand drifted—almost unconsciously—to the side of her ribcage, just below the carrier’s strap. Thumb brushed against cloth. Then skin. A rough edge there. Raised. Faint.
A scar.
She rubbed it once, then let her hand fall.
“Oh?” She said, voice mild. Casual.
Kaito leaned in, clearly delighted by the reaction. “No one knows what she looks like. No one got the hair right. Some say silver, others black and the rest? Braids to her knees. I heard she doesn’t even talk, just hums creepy little tunes.”
That, she thought, was the best part.
She snorted. “Sounds like someone you made up.”
“No, I swear. She’s real. Just—no one sees her twice.” Kaito leaned closer. “People say she doesn’t kill for bounties. She kills to tip the balance. Like you have to earn her blade.”
“How noble,” she muttered, brushing dust off the coil.
Across the deck, two men were mock-dueling with smoked fish and a mop. A third leaned over the railing, either throwing up or serenading the ocean.
“Hey—just what I heard.” He looked proud of knowing it.
“Still telling bedtime stories, pup?”
Laram ambled over, flask in one hand, toothpick in his teeth. His skin caught glints of fishscale near the brow—a leftover from some half-fish ancestry.
Kaito grinned. “Just explaining the bounty hunter threat to Amy.”
Laram dropped to a squat beside them with a sigh. “Ah, the mystery guest with the mop and the box. Fitting.”
“She asked,” Kaito protested.
“You mention the one who fed a pirate captain to his own pigs?”
“Not yet,” ‘Amy’ said as Kaito mumbled “I was getting there.”
“He was telling me about a… ‘Sina’.”
Lucky Roo barged between the two fighters and promptly kicked their asses, saying something about not wasting food on his ship. She swore she heard Shanks’ laugh from somewhere.
“Ah. That one.” Laram dropped into a squat. “She’s no bedtime story. I saw what was left of a ship she hit—The Spear. Hull peeled like fruit. Blood soaked into the nails. Whatever she wanted, she didn’t leave much behind.
A stillness bloomed behind her ribs. Her fingers stopped coiling.
The Spear?
A slow blink. Then she frowned. Not visibly. Not dramatically. But it was there, shadowed between her brows. The name Gladiola Squid resurfaced with a strange weight. Ugly bastard, worse breath. But last she heard, he was still breathing.
She cast her gaze aside for a second. Maybe she had tuned out Arioso a little too well the last few weeks. She was so out of the loop.
Kaito frowned. “Wait—I thought she was clean. Precision kills, no mess.”
Laram shrugged. “Maybe she got sloppy.”
She looked down at the rope again, eyes unreadable.
"If she ever boards this ship,” Laram added, standing with a stretch, “I’m diving off the side. Hope you can swim, kid."
“And why would the crew of an emperor fear a bounty hunter?” The question had left her lips a little too pointed.
Laram paused mid-stretch, looking like a startled cat before grimacing. “Not the seniors. Us temps.”
“Temps?”
There was a lull in the conversation, like her question had brought a storm cloud that weighed over their heads.
“Yeah,” Kaito finally explained, just a tad less excited, “Like Captain rotates the ones who don’t make it ‘Officers’ between his allies.”
Ah. ‘Amy’ thought. That makes sense.
Shanks teaches newbies and make them gain experiences on easier seas. Smart. Keeps allies sharp, debts paid, and promising fighters close.
She rubbed her chin in thought. Perhaps, even, keep an eye on allies?
“You alright?” Kaito asked softly.
She gave a single nod, brushing dust from the line again. “I’ve heard worse stories.”
“Well, don’t worry. If she shows up, I’ll protect you.”
She met his gaze. For a second, her purple eyes glittered like amethysts in the sun. The edge of her mouth flickered again. Not quite a smile. Not quite mockery. Something more subtle. “I’m sure you would.”