They said their goodbyes at the restaurant door, Kaito embracing Pierre like a son. The fisherman's weathered hands gripped Pierre's shoulders, his eyes glistening with a wetness he refused to let fall.
"You gave us back our lives," he said, his voice rough. "My family. Our future. If you ever need anything—"
"I know," Pierre said, cutting him off gently. "And the same goes for you."
Mika tugged at Pierre's sleeve, her small face serious. "You promise you'll come back? You have to promise."
Pierre knelt down to her level. "I promise. And I'll bring you stories about all the places we've seen."
"And treasure?"
"The best kind." He tapped the side of his own head. "The kind that fills up here."
Mika wrinkled her nose. "That's not real treasure."
"It's the only kind that matters in the end."
Kaito's wife stepped forward, pressing a cloth-wrapped package into Pierre's hands. "Fresh bread for your journey," she said. "And dried fish that will keep if stored properly."
