"Thank you both for everything." Aria turned to Sasha and Kaya, adjusting the straps of her new vest. "But I should get going."
"Already?" Kaya's face fell, disappointment clear in her voice. "You've barely arrived."
"Places to be, people to see." Aria managed a smile. "You know how it is."
"Wait!" Kaya rushed to the counter, her light dress swishing as she moved. She pulled out a small leather pouch, worn smooth from years of use. "Take this. You'll need supplies."
"I can't accept—"
"Please." Kaya pressed the pouch into Aria's hands, her fingers warm against the cool leather.
Aria weighed the pouch in her palm. The satisfying clink of coins told her there were at least fifty berries inside.
'More generosity than I deserve.'
"Stay safe, Kaya." She met the younger woman's earnest gaze. "And keep believing in those stories."
"I will." Kaya nodded, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "And if you see Usopp..."
"I'll tell him you're doing well," Aria promised.
She turned to Sasha, who stood with arms crossed, watching the exchange with sharp eyes.
"Thank you for the clothes."
The tailor nodded curtly. "Don't get them torn up too quickly. The next ones won't be free."
Stepping into the morning sunlight, Aria fastened the pouch to her belt with practiced movements. The leather was supple against her fingers, well-crafted like everything else in Sasha's shop.
The Grand Line waited beyond the horizon—where Sea Kings were the least of your problems.
'The Straw Hats will be heading there soon.' She walked down the cobblestone street, her new boots clicking against the stones. 'If I want to meet them, I need to hurry.'
Based on what she remembered from the manga, Luffy would be assembling his crew now. Time was more limited than she'd like to admit.
She found a quiet corner near a weathered water barrel and took a long drink. The cool water soothed her throat, but her body still ached from the morning's fight—a persistent reminder of how unprepared she was for this world's dangers.
"First step—master this fruit." She examined her hands, half-expecting to see purple energy crackling between her fingers. "Can't help anyone if I'm dead."
Nothing visible, but she felt something pulsing beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.
She studied the barrel beside her, its wooden staves dark with age and moisture.
'What if I tried to sense its structure?'
Concentrating, she focused her awareness on the object.
Information flooded her mind—oak staves bound with iron bands, wood grain running in specific patterns, sap-sealed cracks along the bottom, water level at three-quarters full, age of the wood estimated at fifteen years. She jerked back, startled by the sudden rush of knowledge.
"That's... useful," she muttered, rubbing her temples against the lingering sensation.
Understanding objects at their core might help identify weaknesses or find unexpected uses. But it didn't explain what had happened with the drunk man.
"Right, a plan." She counted objectives on her fingers, each one seeming more impossible than the last. "Find a boat, sail to the most dangerous sea in the world, track down the protagonists."
She laughed, the sound carrying a note of hysteria.
"Minor detail—I have zero sailing experience."
"Can't sail alone." The thought of facing Grand Line storms solo made her stomach clench with dread. "Need a crew. Or at least someone who knows which end of the boat goes forward."
She moved toward the harbor, boots finding their rhythm on the uneven stones. As she walked, she noticed something new—energy patterns glowing around each person like colored auras unique to each individual.
The fishmonger's energy concentrated in his broad shoulders and muscled back from years of hauling nets. The village blacksmith's power centered in his massive arms and barrel chest, pulsing with each hammer blow that rang from his forge. A Marine recruit walking patrol had energy that appeared disciplined and controlled, flowing through strict pathways as if shaped by training.
'So training affects how energy flows.' She filed that observation away. 'Interesting.'
"So I can see their strength," she murmured, her mind replaying the restaurant confrontation.
That drunk man had been strong—his energy concentrated in his arms and core from years of manual labor. When she'd touched him during the fight, his energy had flowed into her like water finding a new channel.
"Copying or stealing?" She flexed her fingers, testing the residual strength she still felt.
His power had diminished too much for mere copying. The energy hadn't replicated—it had transferred completely.
She deliberately bumped into a merchant hurrying past with an armload of packages. Her hand brushed his arm briefly, and she felt a connection spark between them. No energy flowed this time.
'Not automatic then. Intent matters.'
"A one-way transfer that requires focus." She stepped aside as the merchant continued on his way, oblivious to her experiment. If she could control when to absorb energy, that made the power significantly more useful—and less likely to cause accidents.
She spotted a market stall selling dried goods, the vendor sorting through his wares.
"What foods would you recommend for someone setting sail?"
She approached his display of preserved meats and grains.
"Planning a voyage?" The vendor's eyes lit up with the prospect of a sale. He selected items from his carefully arranged display. "Dried fish keeps well in salt air. Rice, beans, hardtack—staples of any proper voyage that won't spoil in the heat."
"I'll take some of each." Aria counted out coins from Kaya's pouch, the berries gleaming in the afternoon light. "What about fresh water storage?"
"Water barrels down by the docks." The vendor wrapped her purchases in brown paper. "Old Matsuda sells the best ones—proper seasoned wood that won't taint the water."
He paused in his wrapping, studying her with curious eyes.
"Though if you're planning to sail beyond the East Blue, talk to Captain Gale first."
"Captain Gale?"
"Retired navigator. Teaches the basics to newcomers who'll listen." The vendor pointed toward the harbor where masts swayed against the sky. "Small blue house near the lighthouse. Twenty years sailing the Grand Line before settling here. Knows more about those cursed waters than anyone still breathing."
Aria's pulse quickened at the mention of the Grand Line. Perfect—someone with direct experience in exactly where she needed to go.
"Thanks for the tip."
She headed toward the harbor, her bag of supplies bumping against her hip with each step. The afternoon sun cast long shadows between the buildings as she observed the ships and sailors preparing for departure.
Several captains shouted orders from their decks, their voices carrying over the sounds of creaking wood and flapping sails. Some vessels flew flags indicating commercial trading companies, while others displayed more obscure symbols she didn't recognize. One ship flew the distinctive seagull emblem of the World Government, its presence causing visible tension among the dock workers who gave it a wide berth.
The lighthouse came into view, tall and white against the deepening blue sky. Beside it stood a small house with blue paint peeling in long strips from years of salt spray and harsh weather.
"First sailing lessons. Then a boat. Then a crew." Aria adjusted her bag, the weight of her supplies a tangible reminder of the journey ahead. "Simple three-step plan."
'What could possibly go wrong?'
The house's yard contained nothing but necessities—a rain barrel green with algae, tools hanging on salt-stained walls, rope coiled neatly by the weathered door. Through the window, she glimpsed a brass sextant and navigational charts spread across a table, confirming she'd found the right place.
She knocked, bits of blue paint flaking beneath her knuckles.
Silence greeted her at first. Then heavy footsteps approached from inside, each one deliberate and measured. The door opened with surprising force.
An elderly man filled the doorway, his presence commanding despite his age. Deep wrinkles lined his face like canyons carved by decades of sun and wind, and his steel-gray eyes narrowed as he examined her from head to toe. Despite his years, his arms showed the corded muscle strength of someone who had worked at sea for decades. A faded tattoo of a compass adorned his left forearm—the traditional mark of an experienced navigator.
"Captain Gale?"
"Former Captain." His hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. "What do you want?"
"I need to learn sailing basics. The vendor in town recommended you." Aria stood straight, trying to project confidence despite feeling like a child asking for candy. "Especially about navigating the Grand Line."
Gale's expression darkened at the mention of the Grand Line, storm clouds gathering in his gray eyes. He assessed her new clothes and small bag of supplies, his jaw tightening with each detail he catalogued.
"Another fool dreaming of adventure and glory?"
"I need to learn—"
"No." Gale's voice cut through her words like a blade through silk. "I don't teach anymore. Especially not about that cursed sea."
"Please, I—"
"Go home, girl. The Grand Line's taken enough dreamers already."
The door slammed shut with finality, leaving Aria staring at peeling blue paint.
'Well, that went well.'
"Good thing I excel at being annoying."
She set her supplies down on the wooden step and settled herself with her back against the door. If persistence was her only weapon against the old navigator's stubbornness, she'd wield it like a master swordsman.
"I'm not leaving!" Her voice carried through the salt-warped wood. "The Grand Line doesn't scare me."
'That's a complete lie, but he doesn't need to know that.'
The sun climbed higher as the first hour crawled by. She shifted position repeatedly, trying to find comfort on the hard wooden step that seemed designed to discourage loitering. No sound came from inside the house, though she occasionally sensed movement behind the door.
She knocked again, her knuckles already tender. No response.
'Stubborn old sea dog.'
A second hour passed with agonizing slowness. Sweat trickled down her neck despite the sea breeze, and her legs cramped from sitting in the same position too long.
"He won't answer, you know."
A fisherman stopped beside the steps, heavy nets draped over his broad shoulders. His clothes reeked of fish and brine.
"Thanks for stating the obvious."
"You're wasting your time, girl." He shook his head with the certainty of someone who'd witnessed this scene before. "Gale hasn't taught anyone in three years."
"I need to learn from him specifically. There must be a way to convince him."
"Give it up. Find another teacher."
"I can't." Aria's voice carried more desperation than she'd intended. "He's the best navigator in the village. I need the best if I'm going to survive the Grand Line."
The fisherman's eyes widened at her destination, his face paling beneath his tan. "The Grand Line? Are you completely mad?"
"Probably." Aria admitted with a rueful smile. "But I'm going anyway."
The fisherman shrugged, clearly writing her off as another deluded dreamer. "Your funeral, then."
He continued toward the fishing boats, muttering under his breath about foolish young people with death wishes.
Another hour crawled by with the speed of continental drift. The sun began its westward descent, casting longer shadows across the harbor.
"At least I'm getting a tan while my dignity slowly dies." Aria stretched her cramped legs, fighting off the pins and needles sensation.
She knocked again, louder this time, her knuckles protesting against the abuse. Nothing. Not even the sound of movement inside.
'This strategy clearly isn't working.'
Time for Plan B—assuming she could think of one.
Her gaze drifted back to the ships preparing to leave port, their crews working efficiently. Perhaps one of them needed an extra hand. She could learn through direct experience, working her way from port to port until she gained enough skill to strike out on her own.
"Guess there's no point waiting here anymore today." She stood up slowly, wincing as circulation returned to her legs in a flood of uncomfortable tingles. "Skip the lessons. Find a ship first."
She gathered her supplies, mentally sorting through which captains might accept an inexperienced crew member. The larger merchant vessels had established crews but offered better learning opportunities and relative safety. Smaller fishing boats might take her on more easily but provided less security and knowledge.
She cast one last glance at Gale's stubbornly closed door, its blue paint seeming to mock her failed attempt.
"Thanks for nothing, old man."