Kiri and Zoro repaired the ship, patching broken rails and walls with boards. It was makeshift, but better than leaving it damaged. Kiri did most of the work; Zoro just handed him boards, barely contributing.
They worked leisurely, chatting casually.
"You okay with him running wild?" Zoro asked.
"Who?" Kiri said.
"Luffy. He's doing whatever he wants. Thought you'd rein him in."
"I'm watching him."
"He decided this on his own. You cool with that?"
"It's fine. He's not hurting anyone."
"True, but…"
"Detours are part of adventure. The world's big beyond the Grand Line. Exploring builds growth," Kiri said.
"Hmph. Telling me to get stronger when I can't even cut steel?" Zoro said.
"Not like that, but more fights help, right?"
Zoro frowned but didn't argue. His goal was the world's greatest swordsman. Stumbling here wasn't an option; he craved battles with the strong. He knew he was green—likely couldn't beat Kiri easily. World's best? A distant dream.
Handing another board, he eyed Kiri, the Grand Line "loser." Only he knew that sea. Curiosity beat fear. "Are Grand Line guys strong?"
"Depends. Some weaker than you, some we couldn't touch together," Kiri said.
"Hard to picture," Zoro said.
"Take your goal, the world's greatest swordsman. All four of us couldn't make him draw his blade. We'd be cut down without landing a hit."
"You've seen him?" Zoro asked.
"Nope."
"Then how—"
"I've seen someone on his level," Kiri said, grinning, his usual calm confidence intact.
Zoro raised an eyebrow. "The greatest swordsman's 'Hawk-Eyes' Mihawk, one of the Seven Warlords, right?"
"You know him," Kiri said.
"Warlords? Heard of 'em, not much else. What are they?"
"Figured. Luffy didn't know either."
"Don't lump me with that airhead," Zoro snapped.
"You're kinda alike," Kiri teased, hammering a board. "Seven Warlords are government-sanctioned pirates. Their plundering's allowed, but they pay a cut to the government. Some call them dogs. I don't."
"Why not?" Zoro asked.
"Pirates don't bow willingly. They join for benefits, pulling shady stuff under the radar."
"Mihawk's a pirate? Never heard that," Zoro said.
"It's murky. I don't know why he joined. Ask him yourself."
"When? You know where he is?"
"Nope. Got sidetracked," Kiri said, refocusing. "Warlords fight for the government in crises, needing strength and fame. All are known worldwide."
"All stronger than us?" Zoro asked.
"Yup. Some joined with bounties under a hundred million, but now, none'd be less than five hundred million."
"Five hundred… one kill, that much?" Zoro said.
"My guess. They're that strong."
"Me versus Mihawk now. What's the outcome?"
"Zero chance. If he's lenient, you might last a bit. Serious? Your body's split in two seconds," Kiri said casually.
Zoro's brow furrowed. He knew his limits, but that stung. "You're harsh. Based on what?"
"Gut."
"Seriously? You saw a Warlord. Who? Stronger than Mihawk?"
"Maybe. No ranking among them," Kiri said.
"Who'd you meet?"
"Doesn't matter. You wouldn't know."
"I can look it up."
"You'll nap and forget," Kiri teased.
"Wanna go right now?" Zoro growled.
"Pass. More damage means more repairs," Kiri laughed.
Zoro stopped passing boards, lying down, hands behind head, eyes closed. Not sulking—he was measuring the gap to his goal. Kiri's words rang true; his dream was far off. Yet his body itched for a fight, a beastly urge rising.
Kiri smiled wryly, grabbing a board. "One step at a time. Rushing's no good."
"Not rushing. Fired up," Zoro said.
"That's its own problem," Kiri said.
They finished patching a wall. Kiri stretched, eyeing more repairs. "Next, the rail. Two non-swimmers on board, so help out, Zoro."
"Don't treat me like a dog," Zoro grumbled, grabbing a board and following.
At the broken rail, Kiri sat, frowning. "Tough fix. I'm no shipwright."
"You said that. Can you even do this?" Zoro asked, setting down boards.
"Might ask the islanders," Kiri said.
"Should've done that first," Zoro said.
"True," Kiri admitted, standing, then froze, staring at the sea. Odd waves rippled—not a storm, but something big swimming.
"Something's coming," Kiri said.
"Enemy?" Zoro asked.
"Enemies don't swim. Maybe a beast. Another rare one," Kiri said.
"Enough with pandas and scrub-brush guys," Zoro groaned.
"I get it. Grand Line's got weirder," Kiri said, leaning forward, nearly falling. Zoro stepped closer to catch him.
"Zoro, a polar bear's swimming butterfly," Kiri said.
"Bears don't do butterfly," Zoro said.
"Look."
"…It's butterfly," Zoro admitted.
"Really a polar bear? That's not normal," Zoro said.
"Doesn't seem bad," Kiri said.
"What's with that logic?" Zoro asked.
A three-meter polar bear swam straight to the ship, stopping to gaze up with cute eyes, belying its size. Kiri leaned further, unafraid. "Looks harmless."
"Be careful. It's suspicious, staring only at you," Zoro warned.
"Your scary face probably spooked it," Kiri teased.
"I'll feed you to it," Zoro growled.
Kiri lay on the deck, reaching for the bear, which stayed still, staring back. Zoro's hand crept to his sword. Kiri's usually sharp, but animals dulled his caution.
Kiri touched the bear's raised paw. "See? Handshake. Safe."
"You're nuts," Zoro said.
"Friendly. Maybe lonely," Kiri said.
Mid-sentence, the bear yanked Kiri into the sea. Zoro lunged but missed. A splash—Kiri, a Devil Fruit user, was helpless in water. Zoro prepared to dive, but the bear resurfaced, cradling Kiri, keeping him above water. Coughing, Kiri was alive. The bear sniffed his hair and neck oddly.
Zoro froze, confused. The bear met his gaze, then swam off backstroke, Kiri on its belly, vanishing quickly. "Wait!" Zoro shouted, stunned, watching them go.
The bear, with powerful strokes, sped toward an unknown destination. Kiri, soaked and weakened by seawater, could barely move. Water was his enemy as a paper-based Devil Fruit user. He couldn't resist, tightly held.
They dove briefly, then leapt onto a Navy warship. Marines stared at the bear, Donny, setting Kiri down. Drenched and ragged, Kiri breathed heavily but lived, struggling to open his eyes.
Marines approached. "Donny's back. Another pirate?"
"Recognize him?"
"No, not on any posters."
A lieutenant joined, saluting. "Donny caught a pirate. Impressive."
"Odd, though. His face isn't on any posters," a marine said.
"Hmm," the lieutenant mused, inspecting Kiri. No bounty, no recognition. A mistake? If Donny grabbed a civilian, it'd tarnish the Navy's name. "No record."
"Maybe Donny erred," a marine said.
"Unlikely. Donny never mistakes a pirate's face," the lieutenant said.
"But…"
"We'll ask the Colonel," the lieutenant decided.
Donny lay beside Kiri, nuzzling him affectionately—an unusual sight for the typically aloof bear. The lieutenant, puzzled, headed to the ship's commander's room, knocking.
"Colonel Wendy, a word," he said.
"No circus tricks," a woman's voice replied.
"Seriously. It's not that," he said.
Inside, Colonel Wendy, a young woman with bluish-black hair and a white Navy coat, sat at a desk, reading, visibly grumpy. A high-ranking officer and Navy auditor, she disliked long voyages.
"I'm not cut out for the Navy," she sighed.
"After becoming a colonel?" the lieutenant said.
"Grandpa's connections. Just fame," she said.
"You didn't ask for it," he said.
"But the higher-ups think so. Why follow his path?" she said.
"It suits you," he said.
"I'd rather run a branch. No far-off trips," she said.
"Your auditing role is vital," he said.
Wendy sighed, leaning back. She joined willingly but hated long missions. Sent to the East Blue for a special task, she felt singled out. Swallowing frustration, the lieutenant spoke. "About Donny."
"Caught another pirate?" she asked.
"No, someone not on posters," he said.
Wendy straightened, shocked. "Donny messed up?"
"Not sure. It's odd," he said.
"Show me," she said.
They reached the deck, where marines parted for them. Wendy eyed Kiri's hair and Donny's gentle gaze, almost nostalgic. She knelt, touching Kiri's cheek—no response. She froze, silent.
"Colonel?" the lieutenant said. "He's unknown, but Donny's reliable."
"Right…" Wendy said.
"Wait for him to wake? If a mistake, we apologize and send him to a town," he suggested.
"No. Get handcuffs," Wendy said firmly.
"But—"
"I've got questions. Bring him to my room when he wakes," she said.
"He's not on posters. We don't know his crimes," the lieutenant said.
"That's our job to find out. Don't let him escape," she said, walking off.
The lieutenant stood, baffled. Wendy and Donny seemed off, not acting on whims. Something was up. He glanced at Donny, still softly nuzzling Kiri, his expression unusually warm.