Behind the courtyard, not far away, lay a grave.
It was where Ortoren's father rested. The weeds around it had been carefully cleared, yet no one dared to restore or alter the simple tomb. It remained exactly as Ortoren remembered it.
Now, he sat quietly before it, having laid down offerings and poured a bowl of fine wine. He stared at the tombstone, lost in thought, while Gion stood nearby, respectfully lighting three sticks of incense for Seronis.
"I just noticed—both this house and this grave face toward Whole Cake Island, don't they?" Gion said as she sat down beside him.
Ortoren poured himself another bowl of wine, drank it in one gulp, and smiled faintly. "Even the direction of Terian Island's port faces Whole Cake Island. That's why he chose to live here."
After a short pause, he continued, "My father was once a powerful pirate. More than thirty years ago, his bounty had already exceeded two hundred million Belly. His strength was so great he even dared to challenge my mother head-on... though later, he admitted he lost miserably."
"How miserably?" Gion asked instinctively, then quickly realized the question might be insensitive. Before she could change the subject, Ortoren answered casually, "He was in his prime, in his forties, and still lost to Charlotte Linlin when she was barely in her twenties. That's how miserably."
"Well, plenty of people on the seas have had it worse than him," Gion replied with a small laugh.
"But I think what really doomed him," Ortoren said with a sigh, "was that after losing, he fell hopelessly in love with my eccentric old mother."
He began recounting his father's story to Gion.
"When I was a kid, he'd wake up at dawn every morning and go down to the harbor to stare out at the horizon. Whenever a ship passed by, he'd get excited, trying to see if it belonged to the Big Mom Pirates. If it wasn't, he'd look disappointed. Ever since the day he and I were kicked off Rocks' ship, he never saw Charlotte Linlin again—not even once. But even on his deathbed, he held my hand and told me that if I ever got the chance, I had to deliver his sword to my mother..."
Ortoren shook his head helplessly, a faint smile touching his lips.
He went on talking—about his childhood, his parents' love and resentment, and all those tiny fragments of memory that were fading with time.
Beside him, Gion leaned against his shoulder, listening quietly. From time to time, she asked lighthearted or mischievous questions, making Ortoren's expressions shift between speechless and mildly irritated.
Though they were sitting before a grave, where sadness should have lingered, the moment felt strangely warm—like family reminiscing about old, ridiculous stories.
"In the end," Ortoren muttered, "I still don't know what he actually taught me. He was a master swordsman, yet I can't use a sword—I'm not even interested in swordsmanship. He was a Great Pirate, but before I left Terian, I could barely use Haki properly..."
"Don't you think it's already an accomplishment that he didn't raise you to be a ruthless pirate?" Gion asked thoughtfully.
Ortoren froze. He had never thought about it that way before. For a moment, he found her words surprisingly reasonable.
But just as he was about to agree, he suddenly remembered all the times his father dragged him around the port, shaking down merchants and extorting protection money. He immediately denied it.
"No, no, no! The reason I didn't become a pirate is because I was born kind-hearted—filled with justice since childhood! It had absolutely nothing to do with his parenting!"
Gion rolled her eyes, and Ortoren couldn't help but laugh.
The earlier discussion about "teaching" no longer seemed worth pursuing. Perhaps his old man had simply never been suited to raise anyone properly.
As the sun began to set, Ortoren took another drink, letting the sea breeze brush through his hair. His gaze lingered on the grave again, on the name carved into the stone.
"In the end," he thought quietly, "aside from these horns, I still don't resemble you at all, Oyaji..."
Maybe that was exactly how his father had wanted it.
Beside him, Gion also looked at the name on the tombstone, replaying the story Ortoren had told her.
The man in that tale had gone to his grave without ever seeing the woman he loved again. Though Terian Island was so close to Whole Cake Island, it might as well have been a world away.
Why had he left behind such deep regrets?
In a daze, Gion thought she could hear the wind whispering softly in her ear—telling her that, back then, what he lacked was courage. So be brave, the wind seemed to say. Whatever you desire, have the courage to reach for it.
Just as Gion heard that silent urging, Ortoren came out of his thoughts. He poured the last bowl of wine over his father's grave and spoke quietly.
"I don't know when I'll come back again. Makes me seem like an unfilial son... but I promise you this: when the day comes that my old lady's time is up, I'll bury her here in Terian—right beside you. That way, your wish will be fulfilled."
After muttering this to himself, Ortoren turned toward Gion. "The night wind's picking up. We should—"
Whether it was the wind that gave her courage or Seronis's unseen blessing, Gion didn't hear a single word he said.
She just stared blankly at Ortoren's face, so close she could feel his breath. One second. Two. Three.
"Gion? Did you hear me?" Ortoren frowned slightly, confused by her dazed expression, and asked again.
The next instant, the light returned to Gion's eyes. Without warning, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Ortoren and pressing her lips firmly against his.
The suddenness of it left Ortoren completely stunned. For a moment, his mind went blank, and he simply let her passionate kiss consume him.
Then, as he felt the soft warmth of her tongue brush against his lips, he finally snapped back to himself. The affection and longing he'd buried deep within burst out all at once. He pulled Gion tightly into his arms, their bodies pressed together as the kiss deepened—lingering until both were breathless.
When their lips finally parted, Gion pushed Ortoren down onto his back and straddled his waist in one smooth motion.
The moonlight seemed to favor them, spilling across their bodies like liquid silver. Bathed in that light, Ortoren gazed up at Gion's face. The moon was beautiful, but in that moment, she was even more so.
Before he could recover from the sight, Gion's trembling hands were already tugging at the knot at his collar. That sudden movement jolted Ortoren back to reality. He caught her wrist and blurted, "Hey, wait—hold on a second. This is a grave! My old man's still watching!"
Gion froze. Her eyes cleared, and a deep blush flooded her cheeks. She sat there, motionless, completely flustered.
Seeing her embarrassment, Ortoren couldn't let the awkwardness linger. He pulled her into his arms, looked toward the grave, and said, "Sorry, Oyaji. I've got something important to take care of tonight. I'll keep you company another time."
With that, he lifted Gion into his arms, skipped the long way around, and vaulted straight over the courtyard wall into the old house.
At that moment, Ortoren couldn't help but silently thank the people of Terian Island. They'd kept his home spotless—even the bedding was freshly cleaned. Perfectly prepared for his... less-than-noble purposes.
Tonight, the moonlight was perfect.
And tonight, spring itself seemed to come alive.
...
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