My senses screamed danger as I tracked the approaching group of soldiers through my Clairvoyance.
Around a dozen Marines were moving in formation directly toward Nami's position, their boots creating a rhythmic percussion that echoed through my supernatural awareness.
'Shit, this is bad. Very bad.'
Their thoughts were sharp, focused—nothing like the lazy complacency of the soldiers she'd been avoiding so far. Through my Mantra, I could catch fragments of their mental chatter.
Thoughts about a pirate crew called the Buggy Pirates, the Devil Fruit powers of their captain, and urgent orders from their superiors regarding the Seastone handcuffs.
'Yeah, right. Because nothing in this world can ever be simple. Pirates with Devil Fruit powers show up exactly when we're stealing the one thing designed to counter them.'
I quickly manipulated the compass in Nami's hands, making it vibrate with urgent intensity.
Through my extended awareness, I felt Nami's immediate response. She froze mid-step and pressed herself against the nearest wall with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent years avoiding detection in hostile territory.
"What's wrong?" she whispered to the device, her alertness was clear.
How do I explain that a dozen armed Marines are about to turn the corner and discover her without being able to actually speak? The limitations of this improvised communication system are becoming painfully apparent.
'More importantly, Move You Idiot!!'
I made the compass vibrate again, more insistently this time.
"Are people coming?" she asked, her voice carrying that particular strain that came from being in immediate danger with limited options.
I forced the compass needle to swing toward "Yes" with deliberate emphasis, then held it there long enough for the message to be unmistakably clear.
"Shit," Nami cursed under her breath, her Marine disguise momentarily forgotten as survival instincts took over. "I need at least twenty seconds to reach the extraction point. Buy me time."
Then she started running—not the careful, silent movement she'd been using, but an all-out sprint that prioritized speed over stealth.
'Buy her time? How exactly am I supposed to buy time for someone who's about to be discovered by a dozen Marines, when I'm sitting in a dark alley out of the base?'
"Shit," I muttered aloud, my mind racing through increasingly desperate possibilities.
Sanji glanced over at my obvious distress. "What's happening in there?"
"Minor complication," I replied tersely, not taking my focus off the crisis unfolding inside the base.
'Think, Hachiman. What can you actually do from here? The compass is limited to basic communication. The Barbossa sword can manipulate objects, but only things I can see through Clairvoyance, and only if...'
'Wait.'
I focused my attention on the approaching Marines, using my Clairvoyance to identify their equipment with forensic precision. Standard-issue uniforms, regulation boots, service rifles, and—most importantly—their caps.
Drawing on the Barbossa sword's power, I reached out with concentrated focus and took control of every hat worn by the approaching group.
Then, with a mental command that felt like flicking a switch, I made each cap snap sharply enough to send a dozen pieces of military headwear flying in different directions at once.
The reaction was immediate and exactly what I'd hoped for.
"What the—" came the confused shouts from multiple voices.
"My cap! Where did my—"
"How did that even—"
"Regulation states—"
"Get your caps, you idiots!"
The organized bunch dissolved into chaos as twelve confused Marines scrambled to retrieve their headwear, their formation completely forgotten as they chased after regulation caps that had somehow defied gravity and common sense simultaneously.
'Sometimes the simplest solutions are the most effective.' Bureaucracy and military discipline: exploit the obsession with proper appearance, and you can turn elite soldiers into panicking children worried about getting in trouble for uniform violations.
Through my Clairvoyance, I watched Nami use those precious seconds to get close to the cleaning equipment cupboard at the end of the hallway.
She was close—maybe ten meters from safety—but the Marine group was already starting to regroup. Their confusion wouldn't last much longer.
'Come on, Nami. Just a few more steps.'
The Marines finished collecting their caps with the efficiency that came from years of training. Their leader was already barking orders to resume their patrol pattern.
"Formation! Move Your Asses!"
Nami was still five meters from the cupboard when the first Marines rounded the corner into her hallway.
'Shit, Shit, Shit. She's not going to make it in time…'
Then I watched Nami do something that defied every expectation I had about normal human capabilities.
Instead of continuing her desperate sprint toward the cupboard door, she dropped into a sliding position like a baseball runner stealing home plate!
Her momentum carried her the last few meters while she threw the compass toward the cupboard door with perfect accuracy!
"Open it!" she hissed at the device as it sailed through the air!
The moment the compass came within range of the cupboard door, I seized control of the lock mechanism with the Barbossa sword's power.
The door swung open just as Nami's slide brought her to the threshold!
Then I controlled the compass itself, making it rebound off the door frame and fly back toward Nami's outstretched hand!
She caught it with the reflexes of someone who'd been stealing things from dangerous people for most of her life, rolled into the cupboard, and pulled the door closed behind her.
The entire sequence took less than three seconds.
'That was... actually impressive. No, more than impressive—that was borderline impossible.'
The timing, the coordination, the fact that she managed to catch a rebounding compass while sliding across a floor...
I let out a long breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
Through my Clairvoyance, I saw Nami in the cupboard, her heart racing but her breathing controlled as she waited for the Marines to pass.
The group moved past her hiding spot, their attention focused on reaching the armory rather than investigating random storage closets.
"That was close," she whispered to the compass once their footsteps faded. "Good work with the timing."
Good work? I nearly had a heart attack watching that performance. Though I suppose from her perspective, it probably looked more coordinated than it actually was.
"Send Sanji-kun," she continued, her voice carrying the weariness that came from sustained adrenaline. "I need to rest for a few minutes."
Sanji, who had been watching my obvious stress during the entire sequence, immediately straightened with concern.
"What's going on?" he demanded. "You look like you just watched someone nearly die."
"Nothing," I replied, though my voice probably didn't sound as convincing as I intended. "It's your turn now."
No point in telling him how close this came to disaster. He's already nervous enough about Nami being in danger—if he knew how narrowly she just avoided capture, he'd probably charge into the base himself.
"Here, wear these."
I reached into my Dimensional Bag and withdrew one of the rifles we'd purchased earlier, along with a Marine uniform I'd conjured using my Stand's power just now.
"Do I really have to use this?" Sanji complained, eyeing the rifle and uniform with obvious distaste.
"It's better this way," I replied firmly. "Don't waste Nami's efforts by getting caught because you refused proper camouflage."
The magic words. The moment I mentioned Nami's efforts, Sanji's expression shifted from reluctance to determined dedication.
"Of course! I won't let Nami-san's hard work go to waste!" he declared, immediately beginning to change clothes with military precision.
Predictable. Mention Nami, and suddenly he's willing to do anything. I really should feel more guilty about manipulating that particular weakness, but pragmatism trumps ethics when people's lives are on the line.
I turned around while Sanji changed, using the opportunity to check on Nami's status through my Clairvoyance. She was still in the cupboard, having caught her breath and apparently using the forced break to review her mental map of the base's layout.
"Ready," Sanji announced from behind me.
I turned to see him transformed. The Marine uniform fit perfectly, and more importantly, his entire posture and bearing had shifted to match his new role.
Gone was the flamboyant cook with his dramatic gestures and romantic declarations. In his place stood a competent military professional who looked like he belonged on any Marine base in the world.
That's... actually remarkable. I knew he could act when he needed to, but this level of transformation suggests skills I hadn't expected.
"Remember," I said as he prepared to leave our alley. "The fourth window on the north wall."
"Got it," he replied with crisp efficiency that would have made any drill sergeant proud.
Sanji walked out of the alleyway with the confident stride of someone who had every right to be where he was going. His movements were purposeful but not hurried, matching the pace of other Marines moving around the base's perimeter.
Through my Clairvoyance, I tracked his progress as he made his way to the designated entry point—a second-floor window that we'd identified as hardly accessible but rarely monitored.
'So far, so good. His disguise is holding up perfectly, and his body language matches the other soldiers. Now comes the real test.'
When Sanji reached the position directly below his target window, he paused for just a moment to ensure no one was watching. Then he made a leap from a standing position that would have made Olympic-level athletes fall to their knees in reverence.
The jump carried him up two full stories in a single fluid motion, his legs providing power that defied conventional understanding of human physical limitations.
He flipped midair into the window with perfect precision and disappeared inside the base like he'd been practicing the maneuver for years.
As Sanji entered the base and began moving steadily toward the extraction point, I felt Nami's presence shift. She'd left the cupboard and was already moving away from the first extraction point, leaving the sack of Seastone equipment behind as planned.
She held up the compass and whispered, "Next target?"
I manipulated the golden compass to provide directions toward the base's archive.
Two moving pieces now. Sanji is collecting the Seastone, and Nami is heading for the documents.
'This is getting complicated, but at least both of them know what they're doing.'
By the time Nami had moved sufficiently away from the cupboard area, Sanji had already reached the extraction point. He opened the cupboard door and immediately found the sack of Seastone equipment waiting exactly where she'd left it.
The bag was heavy, but Sanji lifted it like it weighed nothing. His enhanced physical abilities made the load trivial, though I could feel him calculating how to transport it without drawing attention.
'Getting that much equipment out of a second-story window is going to be interesting. The bag is almost as tall as Nami was when she was carrying it.'
Sanji solved the problem with typical efficiency. He returned to the window he'd entered through, squeezed the sack through the opening with some difficulty, then jumped down two stories while carrying the awkward load.
The landing was silent despite the weight and distance involved, and he immediately moved back to the alleyway.
"Good work," I said as he returned to the alley, and I transferred the stolen equipment into my Dimensional Bag for safekeeping.
'One objective complete. Two to go, and they're only going to get more dangerous from here.'
I returned my focus to Nami as she moved deeper into the base, adjusting her Marine disguise to match the slightly heightened alert level that had spread through the facility about the existence of strong pirates on the island.
The archives were located in a more secure section of the base, requiring special permission to enter.
Nami approached the archives area with perfect confidence, but I could feel her slowing down slightly.
'She's thinking. Whatever she's planning, it's more complex than just walking up and hoping her disguise holds.'
As she drew closer to the archive entrance, Nami suddenly picked up her pace. Instead of continuing her cautious approach, she moved with purposeful determination toward a Marine soldier who was just exiting the secure area.
Then she executed what had to be the most perfectly timed 'accidental' collision I'd ever witnessed.
The contact lasted less than a second—just a brief bump between two people passing in a corridor. But in that instant of physical contact, Nami managed to extract the soldier's access credentials without anyone except me noticing.
The soldier continued walking, completely unaware that his authorization papers were no longer in his pocket. His thoughts remained focused on whatever task he'd been assigned, with no suspicion whatsoever that he'd just been robbed.
Nami approached the guards with the stolen credentials, her expression displaying exactly the right mixture of bureaucratic boredom and mild impatience that perfectly matched the atmosphere of a shift change.
"I need to access the archives," she said, presenting the papers with the casual authority of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
The guards barely glanced at the credentials before waving her through. Their attention was already shifting to the next task in their mental queue, treating her as just another routine authorization in a day full of routine authorizations.
The archives inside were a maze of filing cabinets, document storage, and administrative chaos that would have taken hours to search manually. Rows upon rows of papers, reports, and records stretched in every direction with no obvious organizational system.
Nami took out the compass and whispered, "Where should I go?"
I used the Sparrow compass to get distance and direction measurements. After a moment of calculation, I controlled the golden compass to provide directions toward a section that should contain reports from Marine expeditions.
'It probably won't have much useful information—this is the East Blue, after all—but intelligence gathering is like treasure hunting. You collect everything you can and sort out the valuable pieces later.'
When Nami reached the designated area, she held up the compass again.
"Which ones?" she whispered.
In front of her were still dozens of files and document folders, arranged with the kind of haphazard organization that suggested multiple people had been storing things without any coordinated system.
I moved the compass pointer to "Unknown" to indicate that I couldn't be more specific from my current position.
'The limitations of remote surveillance. I can see the area, but I can't read individual document labels from this distance, even with Clairvoyance.'
"Fine. I'll do this the hard way." Nami sighed at my response, a sound that mixed frustration with resigned acceptance.
She began manually searching through the rows of documents and files, her movements efficient and systematic.
After several minutes of careful examination, Nami's posture changed to indicate success.
"Found something," she murmured to the compass.
She began to explain her gathering of specific documents: navigation charts for dangerous Grand Line waters in the regions closest to Reverse Mountain, intelligence reports on major pirate crews operating in the said region, and most importantly, detailed analyses of known Devil Fruit users active in those regions and their documented weaknesses.
'Exactly the kind of information that could mean the difference between life and death in the Grand Line. This isn't just intelligence gathering—this is survival preparation.'
But as Nami finished collecting the most valuable documents, my enhanced senses detected a new problem developing. The soldier whose credentials she'd stolen had discovered their loss and was now frantically retracing his steps.
'Of course. Because nothing can ever go smoothly in this world.'
Through my Clairvoyance, I watched the increasingly panicked Marine approach the security checkpoint, his thoughts a chaotic mixture of fear about potential disciplinary action and confusion about how his papers could have simply vanished.
"Excuse me," he said to the guards, his voice carrying the particular strain of someone trying not to sound as panicked as they felt. "Have either of you seen my authorization papers? I could have sworn I had them when I left the archives, but they're not in my pocket now."
And now the guards are going to start asking questions about who's been accessing the archives recently. Which means they're going to remember the Marine who just went in with authorization papers.
Nami heard the commotion from inside the archives area, and I felt her understanding of the situation crystallize immediately. If they connected her presence with the missing credentials, suspicion would fall on her like a collapsing building.
'She's trapped. Three soldiers potentially converging on the archives area, with no clear path to the second extraction point, and a growing security alert that's going to make any movement exponentially more dangerous.'
But then Nami did something that defied every law of physics and common sense I thought applied to normal human beings.
She spotted a narrow gap between two filing cabinets—maybe eighteen inches wide—and somehow calculated angles and momentum in her head with mathematical precision that would have impressed a physics professor.
Then she executed a series of acrobatic maneuvers that belonged in a circus rather than a military infiltration.
Wall-run up the side of a filing cabinet, backflip over a desk that shouldn't have provided enough clearance, vault over another obstacle with perfect timing, slide under a table at exactly the right angle, and somehow land in a perfect, silent crouch behind a shelf filled with storage boxes.
The entire sequence took maybe five seconds and violated several fundamental principles of human movement limitations.
The Marines entered the archives from opposite directions, their search patterns thorough and professional. They checked every obvious hiding spot, examined the areas around the filing cabinets she'd been searching, and even looked under desks and behind larger storage units.
But they found nothing. Nami had somehow positioned herself in a blind spot that their search patterns couldn't reach, remaining completely motionless while armed soldiers moved within feet of her position.
'How is she even breathing without making a sound? The level of control required to remain that still while people with guns are actively searching for you...'
After they passed her position, Nami moved from her hiding spot and treaded with fluid silence toward the archives exit.
As she passed the entrance, she casually dropped the stolen credentials near the doorway where they would be found later—probably dismissed as something that had simply fallen out of his pocket.
'Covering her tracks. Even in the middle of a crisis, she's thinking about evidence management and avoiding future complications.'
Outside the archives, Nami adjusted her movement patterns again to match the heightened alert level that had spread through the base. Instead of the confident authority she'd been projecting, she now moved with the nervous efficiency of a junior soldier responding to a security alert.
The second drop went smoothly. The designated location was a supply closet near the base's main kitchen—an area with enough foot traffic to provide cover but not so much activity that someone would immediately investigate anything out of place.
Nami left the packet of stolen intelligence documents in the agreed location and departed with the same systematic efficiency she'd demonstrated throughout the entire operation.
A few minutes later, Sanji reached the extraction point with the same collected silence as before. He retrieved the intelligence package, secured it properly, and left the base through his original entry point without incident.
'Two objectives complete. One to go, and it's going to be the most dangerous one.'
I was about to redirect my attention to mapping out the financial storage area when something unexpected happened. Instead of continuing toward the target location, Nami had detoured back to the main kitchen.
'Huh? What the hell is she doing?'
Through my enhanced senses, I watched as she approached one of the base's cooks with the casual confidence of someone who belonged there.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice carrying the perfect blend of respect and familiarity that characterized effective military communication. "The Captain requested some refreshments for his afternoon meeting. Could you prepare a tray?"
The cook barely looked up from his prep work, nodding absently.
"Guests? You mean those bounty hunters? Alright, they will be ready in a few minutes."
I felt a spike of admiration despite myself as Nami asked for another cover with practiced ease. This wasn't just improvisation—this was tactical thinking at its finest.
'I see, she's not just acquiring cover for accessing the vault area. She's also creating a legitimate reason to be carrying items that could be used for... other purposes.'
When Nami heard the cook's reply, she nodded as she moved with confident steps toward the vaults.
The base's financial vault represented a completely different category of challenge than anything we'd faced so far. Through my Clairvoyance, I could perceive the sophisticated security measures that protected the Marine's operational funds.
'Multiple locks all over the place, what looks like traps, an alarm mechanism, and two guards who actually look like they know what they're doing. This isn't the casual security of the armory or the bureaucratic protection of the archives—this is serious anti-theft architecture.'
The guards themselves were alert, their desks were well-positioned, had quick access to weaponry and alarms, and displayed the kind of professional awareness that suggested they took their responsibilities seriously. Neither was reading, sleeping, or otherwise distracted from their duties.
'They're also bored out of their minds, but that's different from being careless. Boredom can actually make guards more dangerous because they're looking for something interesting to focus on.'
I watched as Nami studied the vault area for several minutes, her mental signal suggesting she was analyzing not just the immediate security but the entire tactical situation. When she finally moved, it was back toward the kitchen.
'Round two of her mysterious preparation phases.'
This time, she returned with a tray laden with coffee cups and what appeared to be some kind of sweet pastries. The presentation was perfect—professional but not overly formal, exactly what tired guards would appreciate during a long shift.
She approached the vault entrance directly, her demeanor shifting once again to match her current role. Not the stealthy infiltrator or the trying-to-be competent soldier, but something else entirely—a concerned, slightly nervous Marine trying to do her job properly.
"Afternoon refreshments?" she announced, holding up the tray with a smile that managed to be both professional and genuinely friendly.
The guards looked up with expressions that shifted from automatic suspicion to pleasant surprise.
"Refreshments?" one of them asked, his voice carrying that particular tone of confusion that suggested this wasn't part of the usual routine. "It's not time for the afternoon service yet, is it?"
'Smooth recovery time, Nami. Let's see how you handle the unexpected question.'
Her response was immediate and perfect.
"I'm newly transferred," she said, her voice taking on a slightly frustrated edge that sounded completely authentic. "My Senpais have been... assigning me extra service duties. Something about 'learning proper respect for base operations' and 'understanding how things work around here.'"
'Good. She's not just explaining the irregularity—she's making herself sympathetic while creating a believable reason for her presence.'
Both guards laughed, their expressions shifting to something approaching sympathy.
"New transfer hazing, huh?" the second guard said with the knowing tone of someone who'd experienced similar treatment.
"Yeah, we've all been there. The senior Marines love making the new people run extra errands."
"Tell me about it," Nami replied with perfect timing, setting the tray down within easy reach.
"I've already made three unnecessary supply runs today, and now they want me to make sure all the guard posts get 'proper refreshment service' whether it's scheduled or not."
She's not just selling the story—she's making them feel like they're part of an in-group that understands the arbitrary nature of military bureaucracy. Social manipulation at its finest.
'How terrifying.'
The guards accepted the coffee gratefully, and I could sense their mood shift from professional alertness to something approaching relaxed camaraderie.
A lovely, friendly face, a thoughtful gesture, and shared complaints about military life—exactly what they needed to break the monotony of vault duty.
'What they definitely don't need is whatever the hell Nami just put in their drinks.'
Through my Clairvoyance, I'd caught the barest glimpse of her movements as she was delivering the coffee—a subtle addition that was so quick and practiced that even my enhanced senses had nearly missed it.
'Sleeping pills—Most Likely—Where the hell did she get sleeping pills? And more importantly, where has she been hiding them? I've been tracking her the entire time, and I barely noticed her acquiring or using them.'
The guards continued chatting with Nami as they drank their coffee, their conversation ranging from complaints about duty schedules to speculation about the recent pirate activity in the area.
She participated with exactly the right level of engagement—interested but not overly curious, sympathetic but not inappropriately familiar.
She's giving them exactly what they want from this interaction while maintaining perfect operational security.
'Professional social skills…My One Weakness!!'
Within minutes, the effects became apparent. Both guards began displaying signs of fatigue—slightly slower responses, occasional blinks that lasted longer than normal, and gradual relaxation of their alert postures.
"Getting tired?" Nami asked with apparent concern. "Long shift today?"
"Yeah," one of them replied, rubbing his eyes. "Double duty because of…the increased security protocols. Been on since this morning."
"You should rest a bit," she suggested helpfully. "I'll keep an eye on things while you take a quick break."
'And there's the final piece. She's not just drugging them—she's giving them a rationalization for why they're suddenly feeling tired, and offering them permission to give in to it.'
It was textbook psychological manipulation combined with pharmaceutical assistance. Within another few minutes, both guards were slumped unconscious at their posts.
Nami checked their pulses with clinical efficiency, her movements suggesting medical knowledge that went beyond basic first aid. Alive, breathing normally, just temporarily out of commission.
'It's professional, non-lethal, and completely effective.'
She's not just a thief anymore—she's a spy.
The vault door itself presented the final challenge. Through my Clairvoyance, I could perceive its construction—a massive mechanical monster with a lock system so complex that it looked like it had been designed by someone with a deep understanding of both traditional security methods and more exotic anti-theft measures.
'Multiple tumblers, false chambers, pressure-sensitive components, and what looks like at least three separate locking mechanisms that have to be defeated in sequence. This would take a master locksmith hours to crack, assuming they had the right tools and unlimited time.'
Nami studied the safe for several minutes, her expression shifting from professional assessment to something approaching frustration.
"This is going to take a long time to crack," she whispered to the compass. "Can you help me open it?"
I moved the compass pointer to "Yes" and felt her mood shift to that familiar delight she seemed to experience whenever the "magical" assistance proved effective.
She placed the compass against the safe's surface, and I focused the Barbossa sword's supernatural abilities on the intricate lock mechanism.
The sensation was different from the simple door locks I'd been manipulating—this was like trying to conduct an orchestra while blindfolded, feeling my way through dozens of pins, tumblers, and security measures that had been designed to resist outside interference.
'The difference is that mechanical complexity means nothing to supernatural manipulation. I don't need to solve the puzzle—I just need to want it to move, and it moves.'
The safe opened with a sound like a bank vault greeting its owner, and Nami's reaction was immediate and intense. Pure joy radiated from her in waves that I could feel even through my supernatural senses.
"Whaaaaaahhhh!!!!"
'She's not just happy about the money. She's experiencing something close to ecstasy.'
I could understand why. Inside the safe were stacks of Berri notes, gold coins, and precious stones that represented months of Marine payroll, bounty payments, and operational funds. More money than most people would see in a lifetime, all arranged in neat, organized stacks that suggested meticulous bookkeeping.
This isn't just the base's petty cash—this is serious operational funding. We're looking at enough money to fund a small army or finance major military operations.
Nami worked with systematic efficiency, filling multiple bags with the most valuable and portable items while leaving behind anything that would be too hard to carry.
Even in the middle of what could be the biggest score of her life, she's thinking about operational security.
'Taking the high-value, low-bulk items first, leaving enough behind to prevent immediate detection, and maintaining the general appearance of the vault's contents.'
It was professional theft at its finest—not just grabbing everything in sight, but conducting a strategic acquisition that would delay discovery for as long as possible.
After she made her collection of loot bags, she carried them on her back as she prepared to run.
The extraction from the vault required timing that bordered on supernatural precision. Through my Clairvoyance, I tracked multiple patrol routes, guard rotations, and the general movement patterns throughout the base.
The security had been heightened due to recent pirate activity in the area, which meant more soldiers, more frequent checks, and less predictable scheduling.
'And not just any pirate activity. I'm picking up fragments of conversation that suggest they're specifically on alert for both Buggy's crew and... us. The Straw Hats.'
Our reputation was apparently spreading faster than we'd anticipated, which added an extra layer of danger to the entire operation. If they suspected Straw Hat involvement in any theft, the response would be immediate and overwhelming.
'Especially from their troublesome Captain, who is now back on the base…'
But Nami managed it flawlessly. Through my enhanced senses, I tracked her progress as she navigated between patrol routes, used natural blind spots in the base's architecture, and somehow managed to coordinate her movements with the chaotic but predictable rhythm of military operations.
Looks like she put most of her brain power on this last target here.
'Well, as expected of Nami, I guess.'
Walking out of the base while carrying enough stolen wealth to fund a small army, leaving behind no evidence except some mysteriously missing items that wouldn't be discovered until the next inventory check.
'Mission accomplished. We just robbed a Marine base blind, and they don't even know it happened yet.'
As Nami approached our final meeting point—the alleyway where Sanji and I had been monitoring the operation—I felt something unexpected through my Mantra.
Not just her satisfaction at a successful operation, but something that felt like genuine happiness about the assistance and support, mixed with something else I don't understand.
'There's that strange emotional response again. The same confusing mixture of satisfaction, security, and something else I can't quite identify.'
She emerged from the shadows of the Marine base with multiple bags of stolen wealth, her expression carrying the satisfied look of someone who'd just completed a masterpiece of criminal artistry.
"Mission accomplished," she announced quietly, setting the bags down with a soft thud that suggested serious weight. "All objectives secured, and no one suspects anything."
But then her next statement made my eye twitch with inevitable frustration.
"And all this money is mine now," she declared with the kind of proprietary satisfaction that suggested she'd already mentally spent every Berry in those bags.
'Of course. Of course, she thinks she gets to keep everything. Why would I expect anything different from the woman who tried to charge me 200,000 Berri for a strip show?'
"No, not all of it," I replied firmly. "Sanji and I have a share in this operation, plus we need to address the crew's general funds."
Her good mood immediately shifted to something approaching indignation.
'Yeah, here we go…'
"What? I'm the one who actually went inside and did all the dangerous work!" she protested, her voice carrying that particular edge that suggested I'd just committed a serious breach of etiquette.
"Why would I give my hard-earned money to anyone else?!"
'"Hard-earned money," she says. Yeah, because infiltrating a Marine base and stealing their operational funds is something they celebrate on Labor Thanksgiving Day.'
"You earned it," I agreed, "but Sanji and I helped too, so we deserve a share. This was a team effort, not a solo operation."
"But you already got what you wanted!" she argued, gesturing toward the bags that contained our other acquisitions, well, not all of them, as I put them inside my Dimensional Bag.
"You have the information and the Seastone like you wanted, so I should have the money as we agreed!"
'Technically, we did agree that she would get money as compensation. We just didn't specify how much money, or whether it would be exclusive. Also…'
"The information and the Seastone are going to the crew's resources, so not like only I would have them. And we only agreed that you would have money," I corrected her, not letting her flimsy excuses dictate the course of this conversation.
"But not all of it. We still did some work too—surveillance, 'magical' support, and extraction coordination. That deserves compensation."
From beside us, Sanji had returned to his lovestruck persona with predictable enthusiasm.
"Nami-san can have all the money!" he declared with the fervor of a man making a charity donation. "I would give my beloved Nami-swan anything she desires!"
Both Nami and I ignored him as we continued our business negotiation.
'Sometimes I wonder if Sanji realizes that his romantic declarations actually undermine his attempts to be helpful or romantic. Offering to give away money that isn't his to give doesn't really contribute to the discussion.'
"We also need funds for the crew," I continued, pressing the practical argument. "We have a lot of expenses ahead of us, and you should know that better than anyone."
"We just cashed in the treasure you found," Nami countered, her tone suggesting she thought this settled the matter. "The crew doesn't need the money right now."
'The treasure that's already been partially spent on ship repairs, supplies, and equipment. The treasure that represents a finite resource in an infinite ocean.'
"Even if we didn't need it immediately," I replied, "depending entirely on my treasure hunting is stupid. I could die, disappear, or decide to leave the crew for some reason, then what would happen to the crew's finances like this? We need multiple revenue streams if we're going to survive long-term."
Nami looked particularly flabbergasted when she heard that, her train of thought seemed to stop for a moment, as if she had received some bad news.
Even Sanji, on the side, looked shocked when he heard my words.
"O-Oi, Hachiman, there is no need to—" Sanji wanted to stop this line of conversation, like he found it unpleasant.
But unfortunately for him, just because it is unpleasant doesn't mean it is not a real possibility, and they need to understand that.
"No, we need to, because we're not a normal pirate crew," I said, letting the words carry the weight of everything that statement implied.
"We don't destroy and pillage like other pirates. And since we all have grand goals and massive dreams, our journey on the sea will likely be very long and harsh."
Both Nami and Sanji fell silent at that, their expressions shifting to something more thoughtful.
'There it is. The reality that most pirates don't want to face—that achieving impossible dreams requires impossible resources, and that the romantic adventure of piracy has to be balanced with practical considerations like funding and logistics.'
Even if we are going to depend on luck, we need to at least give it something to work with.
"If we're going to make it as far as we need to go," I continued, "we'll need to depend on more than just my treasure hunting abilities. That means your skills are necessary for our long-term success."
I could see Nami's expression shifting as she processed the implications, her natural intelligence working through the tactical and financial realities of our situation.
"We know you love money, and that's okay," I added. "But you're also part of this crew now, and we'll need your help on this front. You'll have to put your skills to work for the team."
'The carrot and the stick. Appeal to her practical nature and her sense of belonging while making it clear that crew membership comes with responsibilities.'
"Of course, we won't dump everything on you," I continued. "If you need help, we'll do everything we can to support you. And you can keep the larger part of any money you make through operations like this."
Nami stayed silent as she absorbed everything I'd said, and through my Mantra, I could sense the complex emotional processing happening behind her calculating exterior.
Guilt was there—probably for being selfish—mixed with something that felt like reluctant acceptance of the logical arguments.
'She knows I'm right, but she's fighting the impulse to hoard resources because that's been her survival strategy for years. Old habits die hard, especially when they've kept you alive.'
But then something changed in her emotional signature, shifting to something I couldn't quite identify, something that sent alarm signals racing through my mind.
She looked at me directly for several seconds, her cheeks developing a slight flush that suggested she was considering something that went beyond simple financial negotiations.
Something that made the alarms in my head go haywire.
'Did-Did I speak too much?'
Suddenly, she moved closer to me with swift, deliberate steps.
"Wha—"
Her head ducked under the brim of my hat, bringing her face uncomfortably close to mine, so that I could feel the heat from her face.
I reflexively tried to stand back, but her hands grabbed my cloak like she was preventing me from escaping.
Our noses are so close that they are almost touching, and her large, beautiful, brown eyes are peering directly into mine like she is trying to look directly into my soul, making me gulp unconsciously.
'What the—?! Personal Space, Woman!!! The Concept Of Personal Space!!! It Exists For A Reason!!!'
"Okay, I agree to that arrangement," she said with a sly and seductive smile that made every alarm in my head start screaming danger signals, "but on one condition."
'Ah, shit.'
The proximity was making it difficult to think clearly, and from my peripheral vision, I could see Sanji's expression transitioning through what looked like all five stages of grief simultaneously.
'The sound of his heart shattering is actually audible. I think he might be having some emotional breakdown.'
"Wha-What condition?" I managed to ask, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity while trapped in what felt like a romantic comedy scene designed by someone with a grudge against my sanity.
"I want your help for operations like this again," she purred, her voice carrying implications that went far beyond simple professional collaboration.
"Your... 'magical' touch makes everything so much easier."
'Fo-Focus Hachiman! This is a trap! She's not just negotiating for money—she's securing future access to abilities she thinks I possess. And she's using proximity and implied intimacy to make the negotiation more favorable to her position.'
Yes…it-it has to be…
The flustered reaction was unavoidable, but I managed to pull my thoughts together enough to provide a coherent response.
"That's... that's fine," I replied, my voice not quite as steady as I would have preferred.
"Luffy would have no problem with that arrangement. I'll talk to him later to get his approval, since the Captain needs to approve operations like this."
'Bringing Luffy into it serves two purposes—it gives me a reason to step back from whatever this is, and it reminds everyone that we have a command structure that doesn't revolve around personal negotiations between individual crew members.'
Nami giggled at my response, her eyes taking on that sly gleam that suggested she was fully aware of the effect she was having.
'Damn!'
This woman is way more manipulative than Isshiki ever was. At least with Isshiki, I could predict the angles she was working. With Nami, I never know if she's being genuine, calculating, just toying with me, or all of it at the same time.
'Most likely, it is…the last one…'
I couldn't help but sigh internally as the full scope of what I'd gotten myself into began to settle in my mind.
The mission was complete, the objectives secured, and the negotiations concluded. But somehow, I had the distinct feeling that this was just the beginning of a much more complicated arrangement than I'd originally bargained for.
At least the Seastone would be useful against Devil Fruit users. Assuming I survived whatever Nami had planned for our next "collaborative operation."
'One successful heist down, and somehow, I've managed to become even more entangled in crew dynamics that I don't fully understand. This is definitely not how I planned to spend my time in this world.'
But as I looked at the bags of money and the satisfied expressions of my crewmates—Well, not Sanji, as he was still shell-shocked on the ground—I had to admit that the results spoke for themselves.
'Professional thieves, romantic cooks, and whatever the hell my role in all this is supposed to be. At least it's not boring.'
Not sure if I appreciate the last one.
…
A/N: Whew, I really should stop making those long Chapters, they are bad for my health.
But shit, I am getting addicted to this, it's all your fault!!!
Well, that's it for now. Hope you enjoyed this one!
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