Merry had a cup of juice in hand. Not wine, not sake—just juice, orange and slightly tart, served in a small glass that he held like it was fine crystal. He stood a little off to the side, close enough to Kaya to attend to her if needed, but far enough not to intrude on her moment. Always a butler first. Always composed.
He didn't speak much. Just watched.
Kaya was laughing again, the kind of bright, fluttering laugh that seemed to surprise even her. She had one hand over her mouth and the other lightly clutching the edge of her blanket. Her eyes were locked on Usopp, who was halfway through a tall tale about wrestling a flying fish that could shoot lightning out of its fins.
The kids were enraptured. Piiman gasped, Tamanegi clapped, and Ninjin nodded like it was a factual report from a seasoned sailor. Kaya just smiled wider and leaned forward slightly in her chair.
Merry's gaze softened. Just a little.
He didn't say anything, but he sipped his juice and let the corners of his mouth lift, proud in the quiet way people like him always are—without words, without needing to be noticed. Still, he kept glancing at Kaya's face. That light in her eyes. It had been too long since he'd seen that.
Klahadore, on the other hand, stood stiffly at the edge of the gathering with a wine glass in hand. He twirled it slowly—not drinking, just watching the red swirl around the bowl. He didn't mingle, didn't relax, didn't try to hide that he wasn't part of the celebration.
His gaze lingered on Kaya. Then drifted to Usopp.
Then to me.
There was nothing warm in his eyes.
It wasn't anger, not exactly. More like calculation. Cold, quiet, cruel thought. Watching everything unfold like it was a chessboard he didn't remember setting up.
He made a few half-steps toward Kaya, lips parting like he might interject—but every time he did, I moved. Subtle things. A shift in stance. A turn of the head. Just enough to block him with a glance.
He stayed quiet after that.
Smart man. He knew when he couldn't win a piece.
Instead, I focused on the fire.
Fish cooked on flat metal pans over the open flame, crackling as the skin crisped. The old women of the village stood around the makeshift kitchen like seasoned generals, flipping fillets, sprinkling herbs, shouting quick instructions. They worked in rhythm, effortlessly efficient. I stepped in quietly, picked out a few of the freshest pieces—ones with a nice golden sear, edges crisp, centers still soft.
I sprinkled some crushed herbs and ground sea salt over them, then a dash of lemon zest. Just enough to enhance, not overpower. Then I plated it. Carefully. Not fancy, just... right.
One went to the village chief, who nodded in thanks and feasted on it with a grin.
Others went to the fishermen and their families, each plate accepted with murmurs of gratitude and eager hands.
Then I plated the best piece I could find. A thick cut, flaking slightly at the edges, tender and steaming. I halved a lemon, added a neat wedge to the side, and slid a wooden spoon next to it.
This one wasn't for a fisherman.
I carried it over and set it gently on Kaya's lap after laying a wooden board on it.
She blinked, then looked up at me. Her voice was soft—so soft I almost missed it.
"Arigato."
Then her attention snapped back to Usopp, who was now mimicking a sword fight he had with the Merlin. The kids were practically rolling in the dirt mimicking dodging movements with every roll.
I turned and handed another plate to Merry. He took it with a nod, ever proper, and began eating without sitting down. Somehow, even chewing, he looked like he belonged in a ballroom instead of a beach bonfire.
The kids watched me, eyes wide. Expectant.
Little gremlins.
I smirked and turned back to the fire.
I plated five more dishes. Three smaller ones with just enough for each of the boys. One medium—plenty of food but still light enough for a performer in mid-brag. And a large one for myself.
I handed the smaller ones out first.
Ninjin took his like it was treasure. Piiman immediately started scooping with his fingers, earning a sharp scolding from one of the old ladies, who passed him a spoon. Tamanegi just muttered "Itadakimasu!" and got to work.
Usopp got the medium plate with a flair. He grinned, lifted the dish like a trophy, and gave me a thumbs-up. I handed him a small bowl of chili flakes. His grin widened.
"A pirate's seasoning." he might have called it.
I sat down beside them and dug into my own. The fish was good. Simple, but cooked with love. Flaky, warm, just enough salt. The kind of meal that didn't try to impress you—but ended up doing it anyway.
The kids were talking with their mouths full. Usopp had fish sauce on his nose and didn't care. Kaya ate slowly, delicately, like the moment was more important than the meal. Merry remained close, eating in silence, sipping his juice again.
Klahadore stayed in the shadows.
Unfed. Unwelcomed.
But he watched.
He always watched.
I didn't mind.
Tonight wasn't about him.
Tonight was about laughter and firelight. About the quiet joy of shared food and stories. About kids believing impossible tales, and a girl in a wheelchair smiling like the whole world had opened up for her.
And somewhere between Usopp's ridiculous fish-mimicry and Tamanegi's very serious analysis of whether a fish could be trained like a dog, I let myself relax.
Just for a moment.
And I laughed.
Not because anything was especially funny.
But because for once, everything felt right.
And in a world that was often too strange, too fast, and too full of danger—that was worth everything.
A moment of rest before a day normalcy.
---------
The fire had died down to soft, glowing embers.
The kids—Piiman, Ninjin, and Tamanegi—were out cold, curled up near the ashes like a litter of exhausted puppies. Piiman had a stick in his hand, still half-clutching it like it was a sword he'd been swinging in his dreams. Tamanegi was using Ninjin's arm as a pillow, which the latter would definitely pretend to complain about in the morning. Their mouths hung open, little snores escaping every few seconds, rhythmic and oddly comforting.
The kind of silence that felt full, not empty.
Klahadore was moving with quiet efficiency, sleeves rolled, coat folded over a chair. He didn't look at me. Just picked up used cups, stacked plates, folded blankets. Anything to look useful. The villagers saw him as dutiful and humble. A man of stature, yet grounded enough to clear tables like one of their own.
I let him. I wasn't about to get in the way of free labor.
Besides, he was acting. A role well-rehearsed. The perfection of his posture, the careful grace in his movements—it was too polished to be genuine.
But I didn't call him out.
Merry stood to the side, one hand on the back of Kaya's wheelchair. He hadn't sat once since we arrived. Hadn't eaten much either. The man had the stamina of a warhorse and the expression of a statue.
One Piece people were built different. No way around it. If I'd walked half as much, carried as many things, or stood that straight for that long, I'd have folded into the ground like a wet noodle. But Merry? He looked like he could do this for another twenty years. And yet so stoic.
His eyes, though, gave him away. Always watching. Right now they were flickering between Usopp and Kaya every time Usopp opened his mouth or shifted too close.
Merry looked like a man holding his breath. Not because he didn't trust Kaya—but because he did. And he feared what trust could turn into.
Still… they weren't the focus anymore.
The firelight had faded, but the real light came from above now.
Stars. Dozens of them. Bright. Clear. The kind of sky you don't get back home. No city smog, no fluorescent glow—just the sky and the sea and the hum of insects in the tall grass.
And in the middle of it all: Usopp and Kaya.
They were sitting a little away from the others, not quite alone, but wrapped in their own little bubble. Kaya was tucked beneath three blankets now. One had been hers. The other two had appeared over the course of the evening, brought over by concerned grannies who didn't trust even a single breeze near their village's treasure.
Usopp sat cross-legged beside her chair, arms animated, voice lower than usual. He pointed up at the stars, one after the other, naming constellations—or, more likely, making them up on the spot.
Kaya would speak in short bursts—soft, light, questions mostly. I couldn't catch the words, but her expression was easy enough to read.
She was happy.
Not polite. Not gracious.
Just… genuinely happy.
Had this gone the anime route, the two of them wouldn't have had this chance. Maybe only quiet talks behind the mansion gates. Maybe awkward conversations through windows. Sneaking around. Hushed goodbyes.
But I changed things.
I helped when I could. Not because I wanted to rewrite a story. But because it just seemed right.
No one should have to sneak around to laugh with someone under the stars.
Merry's eyes hadn't left them. I could tell he was holding himself back. Barely. His fingers twitched occasionally against the wheelchair handle, like he was tempted to wheel her away on the spot. But he didn't.
Because I was there.
I gave him a small shake of my head. Not yet.
He sighed.
The kind of sigh that came from the soul. Like watching your daughter flirt with a boy you didn't approve of, but knowing you couldn't really stop it anymore.
Time passed in that soft way it does when the world quiets down.
The villagers started to head out in ones and twos. Some tipsy. Some tired. All of them full and warm and happy. A few came by to thank the chief, bow to Merry, and quietly glance at Kaya from a distance. None of them approached her directly. Merry made sure of that.
Eventually, I stood and stretched, the ache in my shoulders settling in like an old friend.
I gave Merry a nod.
He sighed again. Deep this time. Like he'd been waiting all night for that signal.
He walked forward and knelt beside Kaya, murmuring something gently. Her eyes shifted from Usopp to the sky, to the fire's faint glow, and finally back to Merry.
She nodded.
A little sad. But understanding.
I took a few steps toward the village chief, who was still talking with one of the older villagers. I tapped him on the shoulder and gestured toward the kids.
"Chīfu." I said, offering the sleeping bundles like a delivery.
He blinked, then smiled, nodding as he carefully picked up the kids one by one. They stirred a little but didn't wake, still locked in their seafood-fueled dreams.
He left with them, muttering something about their mothers having words in the morning.
Then I turned back to Usopp, who was now helping Kaya with her blanket. He looked up at me, uncertain.
I motioned with my head.
He got the message.
So we walked.
Slowly.
The path to the mansion was quiet. Gravel crunching underfoot. The sea breeze whispering in the trees. Kaya's wheelchair rolled gently over the dirt, Merry guiding her carefully while I walked beside Usopp. He stayed near her side, talking softly. About the stars. About fishing. About something he wanted to build next.
She laughed once. Just a little breathy chuckle. But it was enough to make him smile like he'd won a war.
The mansion gates came into view again. The guards stood straighter as they saw us.
Merry stopped and adjusted the blanket on Kaya's lap. Klahadore, already ahead of us, turned and gave Usopp a look that could've frozen seawater. Usopp swallowed hard, but didn't step back.
Kaya turned her head.
"Arigato. Kon'ya wa tanoshikatta." she whispered to Usopp. Clear. Honest. She was thankful for the fun tonight.
He blinked.
Then scratched his nose, laughed nervously, and gave a lopsided grin.
"Watashi mo."
He had fun tonight too. His eyes and action spoke that much.
Usopp watched Kaya as she was wheeled into the Mansion till the gate closed.
I looked at the stars above. They really looked beautiful.