Sora woke slowly, his consciousness rising through layers of deep sleep. Sunlight stabbed through the grimy window, painting a bright rectangle on the floorboards. He'd slept for hours, judging by the height of the sun. His muscles ached pleasantly after days of constant tension. The bed beneath him felt like heaven compared to wooden boat planks or the cold ground.
Something was wrong.
The mattress beside him was empty and cold. Nami was gone.
Sora sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. His eyes scanned the small room, registering the second absence with a knot forming in his gut.
The treasure sack was gone.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered, running a hand through his coral-orange hair.
How could he have been so stupid? He'd known her for barely a day. Of course she'd played him. That was her whole thing. She was a thief who specialized in pirates. He wasn't a pirate, but he was an easy mark—naive to this world, desperate for an ally, and worst of all, he'd actually started to trust her.
What happened earlier flashed in his memory—her hand resting on his chest, that soft look in her eyes. A down payment? More like the price of admission. A million Berries to touch him... and she'd walked away with the entire haul.
Sora swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to hunt her down, when something caught his eye. On the pillow where Nami's head had rested lay a folded piece of paper. Beside it sat a small, neat stack of Berri notes.
He snatched up the note, unfolding it roughly. The handwriting was sharp and quick:
"Slept like the dead. You don't snore. Treasure's no good sitting in a bag, so I'm handling it. Here's money for food—don't spend it all on booze. Stay put. Don't do anything stupid. -N."
Sora stared at the note, then at the money. He picked up the stack, thumbing through it. A substantial amount—more than pocket change, less than a fortune. Enough to show good faith.
He sat back down on the bed, the anger draining from him, replaced by confusion. A true con artist wouldn't leave a single Berri behind. If she meant to betray him, why leave anything at all?
"Alright, Cat Burglar," he murmured, tapping the note against his palm. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."
A smile crept across his face. Her absence presented a perfect opportunity. He'd been itching to test his new power since waking from that dream-that-wasn't-a-dream.
Sora stood up and moved to the center of the small room. He closed his eyes, recalling his encounter with Maki in that strange nexus. Speak my name with intent. Simple enough.
But what was the intent? He reached inside himself, searching for that part of his soul that Maki represented—the cold ambition, the desire for absolute control, the need to bend everything to his will. He let that feeling fill him, savoring its dark sweetness.
"Come forth," he said, his voice quiet but firm in the stillness of the room. "Maki."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the air changed.
The room grew heavy, like the pressure before a storm. Dust motes dancing in the sunbeam froze, suspended as if time itself hesitated. The shadows in the corners of the room deepened, growing impossibly dark. A soft hum filled Sora's ears, not quite a sound but a vibration in his bones.
Then, in the center of the room, threads of violet light began to weave themselves together from nothingness. They spun and twisted, creating first an outline, then a silhouette, then solid form.
Maki stood before him.
She was exactly as he remembered—tall and impossibly elegant, with pale auburn hair that caught the sunlight. Her form-fitting dark cheongsam emphasized curves that would make a goddess jealous. But it was her eyes that held him captive—golden with those concentric red rings, mirror images of his own, but filled with an ancient knowledge.
"You called, Master?"
Sora stared, momentarily stunned that it had actually worked. "It's really you. You're actually here."
"Did you doubt me?" She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Well, yeah. Dreams aren't usually real." He circled her slowly, examining her from every angle. "Are you... really my clone?"
Maki's laugh was like silk sliding across skin. "A clone is a mere copy, Master. I am a facet. A summoned embodiment of your own ambition for control." She turned with him, maintaining eye contact. "Think of us less as copies, and more as... the different paths your soul can walk."
Sora nodded slowly, trying to process this. His gaze lingered perhaps too long on her form.
So it's not weird that I think my own soul is fine as hell, then. Good to know.
"You are making this far too complicated, Master." Maki smiled, as if she'd heard his thoughts. "I am here. I am your strength. What would you have me do?"
Sora felt a strange drain in his body, like he'd just sprinted up several flights of stairs. Not debilitating, but noticeable. "How long can you stay?"
"Until you dismiss me or your strength gives out." She glanced around the shabby room with mild distaste. "Though I admit, this is hardly a suitable venue for my debut."
"We're working with what we've got." Sora hesitated. "Can you feel? Are you just an illusion, or are you physically here?"
Maki's smile widened. It was the smile of a teacher about to deliver a particularly enlightening lesson.
"Why don't you tell me, Master?"
She moved toward him with that liquid grace he remembered from the nexus. Her steps made no sound on the creaking floorboards. She stopped directly before him, close enough that he could smell something like lavender and thunderstorms.
She reached up, her cool hands cupping his face. Her touch was solid, undeniably real. Her thumbs traced small circles on his cheekbones as she leaned in, her face tilted up toward his. Her lips hovered just inches from his own, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin.
"Can you feel that?" she whispered, her voice intimate in the quiet room.
The moment hung suspended between them, intimate in a way that transcended the physical. This was his power, his soul, his ambition made manifest in the palm of his hands.
Click.
The sound of a key turning in the lock shattered the silence.
Creak.
The door swung open.
Nami stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the key. Her expression transformed in the space of a heartbeat—from triumphant smile to open-mouthed shock to something darker and more complicated. Her golden-brown eyes widened, then narrowed to dangerous slits.
From her perspective, the scene couldn't have been clearer—or more damning. Sora stood in the center of their shared room, his face cradled in the hands of a stunningly beautiful woman dressed in a revealing dress, their bodies close, their faces closer, caught in what could only be the prelude to a kiss.
The bags Nami had been carrying dropped from her suddenly limp fingers.
Thud. Thud.
The first bag spilled open, revealing rolls of Berri notes that scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. The second bag disgorged something else entirely—folded fabric in white. Marine uniforms. Four of them, in different sizes.
Time seemed to restart. Maki turned her head languidly toward the doorway, regarding Nami with the mild curiosity one might show a stray cat.
"Well," Maki said, her hands still on Sora's face, "this is awkward."
Sora stepped back from Maki, raising his hands as if Nami had drawn a weapon. "This isn't what it looks like."
"Really?" Nami's voice was quiet, dangerously controlled. "Because it looks like you've got a woman in our room. A woman who wasn't here when I left this morning." Her eyes flicked to Maki, taking in her unearthly beauty, the golden eyes with their strange rings. "A woman who seems to know you very well."
"I can explain," Sora began, then realized he absolutely could not explain. Not without revealing his Devil Fruit abilities, which he wasn't ready to share.
"Oh, I think it's pretty clear." Nami's gaze hardened as it moved back to him. "You've got secrets, Sora. Big ones."
"So do you," he countered, nodding toward the Marine uniforms. "What's with the costumes, boss?"
Nami's mouth tightened. She bent down and snatched up the scattered uniforms, clutching them to her chest like armor.
"I told you about the map at Marine headquarters," she said coldly. "These are our way in. I spent all morning finding a black market contact who could sell me authentic uniforms."
Sora winced. She'd been working on their plan while he slept and then... well, this. "Nami, listen—"
"No, you listen." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotion beneath her icy exterior. "I trusted you. I left you with money. I came back. Do you know how rarely I do that? I could've disappeared with the treasure. But I didn't. I sold it. I got us disguises. I got us a way into that base. And you..."
She seemed to notice Maki again, really see her this time. Her anger faltered, replaced momentarily by confusion. "Wait... your eyes. They're the same as his."
Maki smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. "How observant you are."
"Who are you?" Nami demanded, her grip on the uniforms tightening.
Sora stepped forward, placing himself between them. "Nami, I can't explain right now. But I need you to trust me."
"Trust you?" She laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. "With what? Your name? Your story? This woman?" She gestured at Maki. "I don't even know who you really are."
The words hit harder than Sora expected. Because she was right. He'd shared almost nothing of himself with her, while she'd revealed her skills, her plans, and now, with those uniforms, her trust.
"I didn't know your size," Nami said quietly, reaching into the pile of uniforms and pulling out a male uniform. "So I got three different ones. Small, medium, large." She tossed it at his feet, her eyes never leaving his. "Sora... who is she?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Sora looked at the uniform, then at Nami's face—hurt and angry and something else, something that looked disturbingly like betrayal.
"I'm afraid," Maki said, her melodic voice cutting through the tension, "that is a rather complicated question." She stepped forward, moving to stand beside Sora with elegant purpose. "But perhaps more importantly... who are you to him?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Nami straightened, meeting Maki's gaze without flinching.
"I'm his business partner," she said, her voice steady once more. "At least, I was."
Maki raised an eyebrow, looking between them with growing amusement. "Oh? Just business?"
"Maki," Sora warned, sensing dangerous waters.
"What?" she asked innocently. "I'm simply trying to understand the situation, Master."
The word hung in the air, damning in its intimacy.
"Master?" Nami repeated, her expression darkening further. "Okay, I've heard enough." She bent down, gathering up the scattered Berri notes with quick, angry movements. "Keep the uniforms. Do whatever you want with them. Clearly you've got your own thing going on here."
"Nami, wait," Sora moved toward her, but stopped when she flinched back.
"I came back," she said again, and the hurt in her voice was raw and real. "Do you know how many people I've come back for?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She shoved the money into her pocket and headed for the door.
"If you leave now," Maki called after her, "you'll never know the truth. And something tells me you're the type who hates an unsolved puzzle."
Nami paused at the doorway, her hand on the frame. She didn't turn around.
"Maybe some puzzles aren't worth solving."
The door slammed behind her with finality.
Sora stood in the sudden silence, staring at the space where she'd been. The Marine uniforms lay scattered at his feet like blue ghosts. He turned to Maki, who regarded him with that same faint amusement.
"That went well," she said dryly.
"You did that on purpose," he accused. "Calling me 'Master' in front of her."
"Did I?" Maki shrugged, a graceful rise and fall of her shoulders. "I merely addressed you as is proper. If she drew... other conclusions, that's hardly my fault."
Sora ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. "I need to go after her."
"Why?" Maki asked, genuinely curious. "She's just a thief you met yesterday. A means to an end."
"Because I need her," Sora said, already gathering the uniforms. "And because..."
He hesitated, the words sticking in his throat.
"Because she came back," he finished simply.
Maki studied him, those golden eyes searching his face. Whatever she found there seemed to satisfy her.
"Well then, Master," she said.
"It seems we have a thief to catch. And perhaps more importantly... a truth to tell."
--- AUTHOR'S NOTE ---
Hey there, beautiful people. Katseye here.
First off, I want to take a second to say thank you. Genuinely. For giving this weird little passion project of mine a chance. Seven chapters in, and I'm honestly blown away by the response. When I first put fingers to keyboard, I thought, "Hey, let's throw a pragmatic bastard into One Piece and see what happens." Simple enough, right?
And then Nami happened.
See, here's my dilemma, and I might as well just lay my cards on the table: Nami was supposed to be a cameo. A little Easter egg. A "hey, look who it is!" moment before Sora went his own way. Seven chapters later, and I've accidentally created this chemistry between them that feels... right? Their dynamic just wrote itself – the cynic and the thief, both hiding their wounds behind sharp words and sharper wits.
The problem is, I've got myself stuck between narrative rocks and canonical hard places.
On one hand, I want Sora striking his own path. He's not meant to be Luffy's subordinate – the man literally has "God complex" listed under special skills on his character sheet. But on the other hand, who the hell am I supposed to give the Straw Hats as a navigator if I yoink Nami? Without her, they're not making it past Reverse Mountain, let alone to Laugh Tale.
So here I am at the crossroads staring at my screen at 3 AM. Option one: Sora finds his own navigator, builds his own crew, and I let the Nami relationship fizzle into a "ships passing in the night" thing. Clean break, original storyline, canonical integrity preserved.
Option two: Sora takes Nami, fundamentally altering the trajectory of the entire One Piece universe, and I have to figure out who the hell gets Luffy through the Grand Line without them all dying in the first storm.
Sigh. This is what happens when you let characters do what they want instead of what you planned. They develop feelings and personalities and suddenly they're making demands.
So while I figure out whether I'm rewriting canon or creating a parallel narrative, let me know what you think. After all, this story's as much yours as it is mine at this point. You're the ones living in it with me.
Anyway, enough behind-the-scenes hand-wringing. Let's get back to watching Sora try to explain to Nami why he was alone in a room with his own personified ambition in female form. That conversation should go well.
Whatever happens, thanks for being here. For reading. For caring about these characters.
Even if I have no idea what I'm doing to them next.
— Katseye
P.S. If anyone has a spare navigator lying around who could believably guide the future Pirate King through the world's most dangerous sea, my DMs are open.