The village beyond the archway was a maze of winding paths and cheerful banners. Laughter echoed, lutes strummed, and the scent of savory skewers floated in the humid air. Nami and Zoro moved through the crowd, passing merchants selling flower necklaces and masked dancers spinning in bursts of color. For a moment, Zoro wondered if the island was always this festive or if their shipwreck had coincided with a carnival.
Curious glances darted their way at every turn. Villagers whispered behind fans and fluttered their eyes at Zoro, sometimes giggling too loudly. He kept his eyes forward, jaw set, with swords clinking quietly at each step.
Nami nudged him. "I saw a sign for a bathhouse back there," she said quietly. "If we're going to explore, we should at least look somewhat respectable. Plus, my clothes are covered in salt." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You smell like seawater."
Zoro grunted. "Fine. But only for a minute."
The bathhouse sat at the edge of the village. It was a steaming structure, partly made of ancient stone, draped with hanging lanterns. A round host in a red kimono greeted them warmly. "Welcome! First-time visitors soak for free today! May the waters restore your spirit and—" He paused, glancing knowingly at Zoro's swords, "—bring good fortune to your upcoming challenges."
Before either could protest, the host whisked them down separate hallways. Nami disappeared behind a beaded curtain. Zoro was sent down a long corridor, steam rising thicker, with walls lined in painted dragons and elegant calligraphy. He kept a wary hand on Wado Ichimonji, only lowering it when the door slid open to reveal a quiet, open-air spring surrounded by mossy rocks and curling bamboo.
He looked around, unsure of the peace. Stripping off his sweat-stiff shirt, he eased into the water, letting the heat relax his sore muscles. For a moment, there was blessed silence—just the distant gurgle of pipes, the soft chirp of frogs, and the warmth soaking away his aches.
His mind wandered: Where were the others? Was the island as safe as it seemed, or did the locals' grins hide sharper secrets? He closed his eyes for a moment.
A quiet splash echoed across the stone. Zoro's instincts kicked in, but he stayed still, every muscle tensed under the water.
A figure slipped into the steam across from him—tall, slender, with hair cascading over pale shoulders. Nami? He was about to speak when he noticed the curve of a book in her slim hands.
The figure looked up and smiled: Nico Robin.
"Fancy meeting you here, swordsman," she said, her voice smooth and melodic. Robin dipped until only her violet eyes and the tip of her nose were above the waterline. "I hope you don't mind sharing. The lady at the front insisted I try the spring that best suits the heart of a rogue.' I suppose that's this one."
Zoro felt annoyance, though a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. "Just don't sneak up on people like that."
Robin smiled. "Would you have preferred Nami?"
Zoro grunted, unsure if she was teasing or genuinely curious—a feeling he was used to with Robin. His discomfort was interrupted by a muffled shriek from the other side of the springs—a wooden partition shook, and then the delicate bamboo wall collapsed in a flurry of steam and shrill shouts.
There was Nami, tangled in her towel and glaring at a pair of red monkeys that scampered off with her bag. "Everywhere, these pests!"
Before Zoro could act, Robin reached across the pool and snatched the towel from mid-air, passing it to a flustered Nami with ease. The moment would have been dignified—if not for Zoro, now half-standing and half-submerged, nearly losing his balance and splashing down hard.
For a heartbeat, everything froze: Nami clutching her towel, Robin trying not to laugh, and Zoro sputtering, his chest bare and sword tattoo visible against his skin. Then all three burst into laughter—the tension, the awkwardness, the sheer silliness of the moment broke like a wave.
"How about a little warning next time?" Zoro grumbled, shaking water from his hair.
Nami rolled her eyes, but she softened too. "I'd settle for a map to the 'no-monkey zone.'"
Robin lay back, book in hand again, with a quiet smile. "In some cultures, hot springs bring good fortune to new bonds."
A strange peace settled then, the three of them sharing a rare moment—no pirates, no treasure, just steam rising gently to the starlit sky.
Under the surface, the water shimmered, hinting at something more than a simple alliance or convenience. The tangled threads of fate and attraction began to pull—slowly, playfully, and irresistibly—drawing the swordsman and his companions deeper into the island's legend.
*To be continued in Chapter 4: Blades Drawn at Dawn…*