The clash had been brief but decisive—Luffy's stubborn grin had met Laboon's massive forehead, and against all odds, it was the whale who finally yielded. The air still seemed to echo faintly with the sound of that last, earth-shaking collision. The crew stood on the deck of the Going Merry, catching their breath and watching as the whale floated contentedly in the waters outside, his enormous body drifting with something almost like a satisfied sigh.
"Only our captain…" Zoro muttered, arms folded, lips quirking in something caught between disbelief and admiration.
Sanji flicked his lighter shut, smoke curling from his lips. "A headbutt duel with a whale, and of course, he wins. Idiot captain… but I guess we've got ourselves a new friend."
"More like a mascot!" Usopp declared, puffing up proudly. "A giant, terrifying, mountain-sized mascot! Our enemies will quake when they hear the name 'Straw Hats and Their Whale!'"
Nami gave him a withering look but said nothing—her eyes had already drifted down to the log pose Crocus had pressed into her hand before they'd departed the whale's strange, cavernous insides. Its needle pointed straight and unwavering, a silent promise of their next destination.
The mood, however, was slightly dampened by the two prone figures tied up at the base of the mast. The bizarre pair who had introduced themselves with ridiculous theatrics now sat cross-legged, their hands bound, and their heads sporting enormous lumps courtesy of Varin's earlier intervention.
"Ugh…" the woman groaned, her strange hairstyle shifting as she winced, one hand gingerly pressing the knot on her head. "This is unforgivable… assaulting a lady like me—"
"Quit whining, partner," the man beside her muttered, though his own face was contorted in pain as he nursed his matching lump. His voice carried that same theatrical flourish he couldn't seem to get rid of, even while sulking. "We still have a duty to fulfill, and that means delivering information…"
They were promptly ignored as the Going Merry creaked and swayed as the sails unfurled, catching the brisk winds that swept across the Twin Capes. The sun was beginning its slow descent, staining the horizon with orange fire, casting long shadows across the water where Laboon's massive bulk drifted lazily, as if satisfied after his duel with Luffy. Crocus stood at the cliff's edge, a solitary figure in his bright yellow coat, one arm raised in farewell as the ship eased away from the Red Line's towering wall.
The Straw Hats, in their own fashion, acknowledged him—Zoro with a casual lift of his hand, Sanji with a two-finger flick from his cigarette, Nami with a precise little nod, Usopp waving wildly as though Crocus were an old friend he'd never see again. Luffy, of course, leaned over the railing, grinning ear to ear as he waved both arms, shouting wordless goodbyes into the wind. Even Varin gave a half-hearted lift of his hand, though his attention was already drifting elsewhere.
Behind the group, tied near the mast like unruly cargo, the two strangers—still sporting their lumps—sat in a sulk, their earlier flamboyance diminished somewhat by the indignity of rope binding and throbbing headaches. They did not wave, nor did Crocus spare them even a glance. For him, their presence was a nuisance compared to the bond between Laboon and the pirates now leaving port.
The Merry picked up speed, cutting across the waves with purpose. The log pose on Nami's wrist gleamed faintly in the dying light, its needle locked firmly eastward, promising the first true step of their Grand Line voyage. Seagulls trailed in the ship's wake, the wind snapping the sails taut, and for a while, the only sounds were the rush of water against the hull and the faint echo of Crocus's voice fading behind them.
It was Miss Wednesday who finally broke the silence, her sharp voice cutting through the hum of the sea. She twisted where she sat against the mast, fixing her narrowed eyes on Varin, who was leaning lazily against the railing nearby, arms folded, watching the horizon. "Why?" she demanded suddenly. "Why hit us? You didn't even know who we were yet." Her tone was laced with indignation, but there was something brittle beneath it, a flicker of unease that hadn't been there before.
Varin's response wasn't hesitation or explanation—it was laughter. Not the rolling, warm kind, but a single sharp bark of mirthless amusement, the kind that cut through the air like steel scraping steel. He tilted his head back, shadows falling across his face in the fading sun, the smirk tugging his mouth sharp and unfriendly.
"You're serious?" he said, the chuckle still rumbling low in his chest. "We were inside a whale. Likely halfway to the abyss. If you'd pulled those triggers, and by some miracle the beast survived the blast without thrashing us all to paste, the water pressure alone would've popped us like grapes. That's if we didn't drown first. At least two of us"—he tapped his chest, then jerked his chin toward where Luffy still leaned over the railing, humming tunelessly—"would've sunk straight to the bottom."
He pushed off the railing and leaned in just enough for his words to land heavy, his eyes cold and steady as they locked with hers. "So, forgive me if I didn't wait politely to learn your life story before knocking sense into you."
The woman flinched ever so slightly at the bite in his tone, her earlier indignation faltering. Her partner shifted beside her, lips pressing tight, as though he wanted to snap back but thought better of it under the weight of that explanation.
The atmosphere aboard the ship after that was a peculiar one—a mixture of relief, curiosity, and lingering annoyance. The Straw Hats busied themselves with small tasks—Sanji setting a pot to simmer in the galley, Usopp tinkering with a slingshot by the mast, Nami quietly studying the unwavering needle of her newly acquired log pose—but the presence of their two strange prisoners gave the entire deck a strange tension, like a stormcloud that hadn't yet decided whether to break.
The pair sat sullenly on the deck, bound and bruised, nursing their lumps in silence. Every so often, the man would mutter theatrically about "ungrateful ruffians" or "suffering nobility unrecognized," while the woman's expression remained a careful mask of indignation and impatience, her eyes darting to her captors with barely concealed irritation.
It was in this lull that Zoro finally stirred. He had been leaning against the railing, dozing lightly with one eye open, but now he tilted his head toward the pair and broke the quiet with his usual bluntness.
"So…" His eyes fully open, fixing on them. "Do we get to learn your actual names, or are we supposed to keep calling you Mister 9 and Miss Wednesday?" He gave a slight snort, his tone mocking without much effort. "I doubt those were the ones your parents picked out."
That earned him a sharp glare from the woman, her pride instantly pricked. She sat straighter, chin lifted, the ropes straining against her wrists. "Hmph! Our identities are our own to declare, and to reveal them to the likes of you would be beneath our station!" Her voice was crisp, cutting, practiced—like she was reciting lines she'd used many times before.
The man at her side quickly followed her lead, puffing his chest, though the swelling lump on his head ruined the dignity he was aiming for. "That's right! We are agents on a mission, and we shall not betray our vows by handing you our true names! The world need only know us as Mister 9 and Miss Wednesday!"
"Agents, huh?" Zoro muttered dryly, unimpressed. "Figures." He folded his arms, his eye narrowing slightly as he gave them a long, measuring look. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Just don't expect us to take those ridiculous names seriously."
From where he leaned at the other railing, Varin let out a low, amused chuckle. He shifted his weight and cast a sidelong glance at the two bound figures, his lips twisting into that same wolfish half-smile he wore whenever he found something—or someone—stupid enough to amuse him.
"You two keep playing pretend," he muttered, "but around here, names don't matter half as much as what you do. And so far?" His eyes flicked to the bazooka still lashed uselessly to the mast, stripped from their hands earlier. "You've done nothing but prove yourselves morons."
The pair bristled at that, but bound as they were, all they could do was scowl in silence.
Zoro's gaze lingered a moment longer, as though filing away the exchange in that quiet, calculating mind of his, before he closed his eyes again and leaned back against the railing with a faint shrug. "Guess that's all the answer we're gonna get."
Nami had been silent throughout most of the exchange, her eyes fixed on the steady pull of the log pose strapped to her wrist, her mind already turning over routes, distances, supplies, and the calculations of the seas ahead. But as Varin's dry insult lingered in the air and the prisoners fell quiet, she glanced up from the helm and fixed her gaze on the man leaning against the railing.
"Varin," she called, her tone sharp enough to cut through the creak of the timbers and the sigh of the waves. She lifted a hand from the wheel, beckoning. "Come up here for a moment. I've got a few questions for you."
The crew's attention shifted slightly, though no one said anything—Sanji peeked his head out from the galley door, curious, while Usopp looked up from his slingshot with wide, expectant eyes. Zoro cracked his eye open again but didn't move, clearly more interested in listening than joining.
Varin straightened with a small grunt, his arms unfolding as he gave Nami a long, almost suspicious look. "Questions, huh?" he muttered, pushing himself off the railing. "Fine." He crossed the deck with that unhurried, deliberate stride of his, every step echoing a quiet weight of indifference that didn't match the sharpness in his eyes.
When he reached the raised deck of the helm, he leaned one arm lazily against the railing near the wheel, tilting his head toward her. "Well?" His voice was low, edged with amusement. "What's rattling around in that navigator's head of yours?"
Nami's hand moved off the wheel just long enough to raise the log pose, the little glass dome catching the sunlight as the faint magnetic needle pointed steadily toward the unseen island ahead. Her brow furrowed, sharp suspicion in her eyes as she looked at Varin.
"I know you said we needed it," she began, voice calm but carrying an edge, "but where did you get this? I never saw Crocus hand it to you."
The air between them tightened. Even the creak of the Merry's mast seemed quieter, as though the ship itself leaned in to hear the answer.
Varin's smirk tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth. He didn't fidget, didn't falter—he leaned casually against the rail, eyes steady on hers. "Didn't get it from him," he said smoothly. Then, with a little tilt of his head toward the prisoners sulking by the mast, "I nicked it off one of those two clowns while they were too busy squawking. Told you Crocus gave it to me because—" he chuckled low, dry, "—I'm curious how long it'll take before they realize it's missing."
Nami blinked, surprise cracking her mask for only a fraction of a second before she tightened her grip on the wheel. "You what?" she hissed under her breath, glancing at the captives again. Neither Mister 9 nor Miss Wednesday seemed to have pieced it together yet, both still rubbing at their bruised foreheads.
"Relax," Varin drawled, shrugging one shoulder as if it were nothing. "Better in our hands than theirs, don't you think?"
But before she could spit back a retort, he shifted gears. "Tell you what," he murmured, eyes narrowing faintly. "Humor me. Pull out your compass."
Her frown deepened, but suspicion gave way to calculation. Slowly, she reached into the pouch at her hip and drew out her old navigator's compass—a battered little brass piece she trusted as much as her instincts. She flipped it open, expecting the calm pull of north.
Instead, the needle spun. Not lazily, not drifting—it whirled with a jittery, uneven twitch, like it couldn't decide where north was, as if even the world itself had lost its bearings.
Nami's breath caught, her eyes snapping from the compass to Varin. "What the hell…"
Varin watched her, calm as ever, though his gaze carried that razor-sharp amusement, like a man standing just behind the punchline of a joke no one else understood. "That's the Grand Line for you," he said softly. "North stops meaning a damn thing. Out here, a compass doesn't point anywhere real. Which is why—" he tapped the log pose still clutched in her other hand, "—that's the only thing worth trusting."
The ship groaned as the waves carried it onward, the horizon vast and unknowable.
For a moment, Nami stood silent, staring down at the trembling needle of her compass, her mind running faster than the sea winds filling their sails.
Varin's eyes lingered on the spinning needle a moment longer, then flicked back to Nami. The smirk was gone now, the lazy edge stripped from his tone when he spoke again.
"You really didn't know?" he asked, quiet but pointed, as if he were weighing her answer more carefully than before.
Nami's lips parted, but nothing came out right away. Her grip on the wheel tightened, the log pose in her other hand trembling ever so slightly as the reality sank in. She had sailed across every stretch of sea the Blues had to offer, trusted her maps, her measurements, her instincts. For her compass to spin uselessly—like a child's toy—it gnawed at her pride in a way few things ever had.
"…No," she admitted finally, her voice low. She forced herself to steady her tone, though her eyes burned with frustration. "I didn't know."
Varin studied her in silence, then let out a long breath through his nose. "Then it's a good thing you lot picked me up when you did," he said at last. His voice carried no arrogance now, no bite, just flat certainty. "Because you'd have died the moment you set foot in the Grand Line without someone to tell you."
The words landed heavier than his usual jabs. They weren't meant as mockery, but truth—brutal, unvarnished truth. The kind that left the air thick in its wake.
He reached over and tapped the log pose she held, his finger resting on it just long enough to make the point stick. "This is the only thing that'll get you through. It fixes to the island you land on, records its pull, and once it's 'fed' enough, it shifts to the next one. Step by step, chain by chain. That's the only way forward."
Varin leaned back slightly, folding his arms, his expression hard but not mocking. "Without that, you'd never make it past the first current. You'd die out here—lost before you even knew you were lost."
The words hung over the deck like stormclouds, and for once, Varin wasn't smirking. It wasn't a jab, it wasn't arrogance—it was the plain, unyielding truth.
Varin let the silence hang between them, his gaze fixed on the horizon for a beat before he shook his head. "By Thor, I regret stepping on this ship," he muttered, not with his usual bite, but in a strangely lighthearted, almost weary tone. "One day in and I'm already teaching lessons I swore I'd never bother with again. Should've known the lot of you would be trouble the moment I saw your captain headbutt a whale."
The words pulled Nami out of her own thoughts like a tug on a line. She blinked, caught off guard—not by the truth in what he'd said earlier, but by the ridiculousness of his delivery now. Slowly, a smile crept across her face, one she tried to bite back but couldn't.
"You regret it, huh?" she said, arching a brow at him. "Funny, because you didn't seem so regretful when you were stuffing your face with Sanji's cooking."
Varin snorted, turning his head toward her with mock seriousness. "Food doesn't count. A man stranded would eat his own boots if it came to it—I did try. That meal was survival, not enjoyment."
Nami tilted her head, the smile widening into something sly. "Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure I heard you groan when he brought out the second plate. Survival doesn't usually sound that happy."
That cracked him. Varin chuckled low in his chest, dragging a hand down his face as if she'd caught him red-handed. "You're sharper than you look, Navigator," he said with a grudging note of amusement. "Fine. I'll admit your cook might just be worth the headache of this crew."
Nami's smile lingered a moment longer before it softened into something quieter, more thoughtful. She turned her eyes back to the horizon, the endless stretch of sky and sea that had always been her greatest comfort—and her greatest challenge. Her fingers shifted slightly on the wheel, the leather wrapping creaking beneath her grip.
"Thank you…" she said, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
Varin blinked, his brow knitting faintly as though he hadn't expected to hear that from her of all people. "For what, lass?" he asked, his voice carrying a trace of genuine curiosity rather than sarcasm.
Nami exhaled slowly through her nose, considering her words before speaking again. Her gaze didn't leave the horizon, as though admitting it directly to his face might be harder than facing the seas ahead. "For being here, I guess," she said finally. Her tone wasn't light, not playful—it carried a weight, the sort of honesty that didn't come easily to her.
Varin tilted his head, watching her more closely now.
She adjusted her stance at the wheel, her voice steadying, even as something vulnerable lingered underneath. "Trust me, I know how hard it is to stay. And I know how hard it is to leave. Both choices tear at you in ways most people don't ever understand. But you stayed—after everything. You could've walked away the second we landed in Lougetown, but you didn't."
Her eyes finally shifted to him then, sharp but earnest. "We thought we were prepared for the Grand Line. We thought our courage, our dreams, and our stupidity would be enough to see us through. But if it were just us…We would've been wandering aimlessly until we starved, or drifted into a storm, or worse. Without you, we'd already be dead."
The words hung there between them, stark and unpolished. Nami wasn't one to hand out thanks freely, not when trust was something she had been burned by too many times before. But in that moment, she wasn't the thief with a guarded heart—she was the navigator who knew exactly how close they had come to stepping into the unknown blind, and how slim their margin for survival truly was.
Varin didn't answer right away. His expression hardened for a moment, as though some memory of his own flickered behind his eyes, then eased again. The smirk didn't return, nor did the teasing tone he so often wore like armor. Instead, he simply let her words settle, leaning his weight against the railing beside her, the silence stretching not in discomfort but in understanding.
Finally, he broke it with a low grunt that almost passed for a laugh. "Aye, don't worry about it," he said, his tone rough but not unkind. "I'm sure you would've been fine without me. You've got grit, lass. More than most I've seen." He lifted a hand, waving vaguely at the endless sea as if it was nothing more than a stubborn stormcloud. "But—truth be told—I'm certain to bring more trouble than I'm worth. Sooner or later, you'll probably be wishing I'd never joined in the first place."
He shot her a sidelong glance, a flicker of mischief ghosting across his features, though it didn't quite reach the smirk he usually carried. "When that time comes, I'll be sure to quote this back at you. 'Thanks for being here, Varin.' Those were your words, Navigator. Don't think I'll forget 'em."
For the first time in that exchange, Nami gave a soft laugh. It wasn't mocking or sharp—it was real, a release of the heaviness that had been pressing down on her since the moment her compass failed. She shook her head, the corner of her mouth tugging upward.
"You're impossible," she said, though the edge of her voice carried warmth instead of annoyance.
"And yet here I am," Varin replied, settling himself more comfortably against the railing as though the conversation had reached its natural end. The log pose glinted faintly in the light, pointing ever forward, but the weight on Nami's chest felt lighter than it had minutes ago. For the first time since entering the Grand Line, she didn't feel quite so alone at the helm.
Nami's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, her smile faint but steady. Then her brow furrowed, a thought tugging at her as she tilted her head.
"You know…" she started, her tone sly now, almost testing. "Whenever you get all… genuine, you start talking different."
Varin's head turned slightly, one eyebrow quirking upward. "Different?" he echoed.
"Yeah," she said, fighting back a grin. "You drop the gruff tone, and suddenly it's 'lass' this and 'aye' that. You even use these weird old words like you've stepped out of some half-forgotten book." She leaned on the wheel, narrowing her eyes playfully. "You don't talk like that all the time. Just when you're being serious."
Varin blinked, then gave a slow, deliberate snort, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "So you've been listening that close, eh? Figures. Navigator's ears sharper than her compass." He shook his head, almost amused at himself. "Aye—there it is again, I suppose."
Nami chuckled, unable to resist. "See? You can't even help it."
"Bah." He waved a hand dismissively, though the faint color in his ears betrayed him. "Old habits. Slip out when I'm not paying attention." He shifted his weight, eyes on the sea again, and muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "Not like it matters. Words are words."
Nami tilted her head, studying him with that same amused sharpness she reserved for Sanji's overblown flirtations or Luffy's stubbornness. "Oh, it matters," she said, her voice light but her eyes cutting. "Because it means that's when you're being honest."
Varin stilled for half a heartbeat, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled from his chest. "Careful, lass," he said, the word rolling naturally again, softer this time. "Keep poking like that and you'll think you've got me figured out."
Nami only smiled, the wheel steady in her hands. "Maybe I already do."
"That'd make one of us, I suppose," Varin said, though there was no real bite to it this time. He pushed off the railing with a low grunt, straightening his shoulders. For once, his words didn't carry that sharp edge of dismissal—more like a weary sort of resignation.
He glanced up at the wheel one last time, then let his gaze drift toward the deck below. "I'll leave the navigatin' to you. Don't fancy getting screamed at by the sea itself if I touch that thing wrong." His lips twitched into something close to a smirk again, though it was softer than usual. "Besides, I'm sure Usopp would appreciate the help with trying to fix the figure. One that's not Luffy yelling at him to fix it faster."
From below, as if on cue, came the muffled sound of Luffy's unmistakable voice carrying over the deck: "Usopp! Hurry up! I wanna see it done already!" followed swiftly by Usopp's indignant shout of "Then you do it if you're so impatient!"
Varin tilted his head toward the noise, one brow arched. "See? Case in point."
Nami laughed despite herself, shaking her head. "Go on, then. Maybe you can keep them both from breaking something else while you're at it."
He gave a mock salute as he started toward the ladder. "No promises, lass. By the time I get down there, I'll probably regret opening my mouth."
But the faint grin tugging at his mouth suggested he didn't really mind.