The soft morning sunlight bathed the deck of the Jumoi, warming the wooden planks and illuminating the surrounding ocean. Guts, known as the "Devil Swordsman" in the Grand Line and one of the feared Shichibukai, sat calmly cross-legged on a brightly colored picnic mat with the Dragon Slayer resting beside him.
His eyes were probing, yet held a hint of sympathy. Having spent a decade as a wanted man himself, he knew all too well what Hachi was feeling – the criminal brand, stamped on him for something he may not have fully committed. However, the little orange-haired girl's statement suggested that Hachi wasn't entirely innocent.
The picnic mat had just been arranged, filled with plates of squid fried rice, steam curling upwards. The savory and slightly sweet aroma of Hachi's cooking permeated the air, mingling with the fresh scent of the sea. Several bottles of rum remained sealed, awaiting to be opened and enjoyed.
Hachi stood nearby, his head bowed awkwardly. He had just finished preparing breakfast, and he felt nervous awaiting Guts' reaction.
"This is all I can do, Guts-san, to repay your kindness," he said, then glanced towards Nami.
Nami sat perched on the ship's railing, gazing at Hachi with an empty stare.
Her eyes held the vacant stare of a soul ravaged by trauma, a landscape scarred by events no child should ever endure. It was a look that spoke of innocence lost, of a future stolen, and the architect of that devastation – Hachi – was mirrored in their haunted depths.
Seeing that, Hachi felt the phantom pain from his missing limbs, the grief over the death of his kinsman, the despair he experienced from the constant pursuit of marines – all felt like a mockery in the face of Nami's suffering.
Mohji and Cabaji, who had just returned from their shopping duties, carried baskets overflowing with supplies. They stopped dead in their tracks, stunned by the scene before them.
"Uh... what's this, Boss?" Mohji asked, his eyes blinking in confusion.
Cabaji elbowed Mohji sharply. "Don't interfere," he hissed, his eyes widening in warning. "This must be important business." He tried to assess the situation and take a better look at the two girls.
"Of course it's important business, I'm just curious, are those two girls the Boss's bastard children?" Mohji probed, his voice low.
"Hm? Now that you mention it, I'm starting to see a resemblance, especially the orange-haired one; her eyes are similar," Cabaji said, now showing a flicker of interest in the topic, narrowing his eyes and nodding as if he had solved a great mystery.
Guts remained oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to their whispered speculations. He lifted a mouthful of fried rice with his spoon, the steam swirling around his face. He closed his eyes, savoring the blend of flavors, a rare moment of peace on his perpetually troubled face.
"Hachi," he rumbled, his voice a low growl that cut through the morning air. "Not bad. You have a knack for this."
Hachi, relieved to have broken the tension, offered a nervous smile. "Thank you, Guts-san."
Guts' gaze shifted to his left. Beside him, Robin devoured her portion with surprising gusto. However, a closer inspection revealed a small mountain of untouched vegetables pushed to the edge of her plate. "Those greens aren't going to eat themselves, kid," he said, his tone laced with mild disapproval. "What's the deal?"
Robin, caught red-handed, averted her gaze, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "They're... for Richie," she mumbled.
Guts' eyes flickered towards Richie, the massive white lion lounging nearby. The lion, sensing the shift in attention, perked up and gave an affirmative nod. But as Guts' gaze intensified, a familiar darkness creeping into his eyes, Richie's bravado crumbled. He shook his massive head, whimpering softly, desperate to avoid that look.
Robin's expression hardened, a fierce protectiveness flaring in her eyes. "Don't scare Richie, Father!" she glared at Guts with an angry pout.
A smile tugged at the corner of Guts' lips. He reached out and gently tousled Robin's hair. "Richie has his own meals, kid. You finish those vegetables, or I'll have Hachi whip up a special batch... with extra seaweed."
Robin, with a dramatic sigh, batted Guts' hand away. She resumed eating, attacking the neglected vegetables with a visible lack of enthusiasm, but at least they were disappearing from her plate.
Guts turned his gaze back to Hachi. "Alright," he said, his voice low and steady. "You can start talking."
Hachi took a deep breath, his two tentacle hands fidgeting nervously. Beside him, Lyre ate quietly, her eyes fixed on her plate, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air.
He began to recount his tale, his voice heavy with sorrow. He spoke of his desperate return to Fisherman Island as a broken man. He had lost all his crewmates, his kinsmen.
He was lost, without direction, without purpose. In his despair, he had sought answers from an old man, a fisherman who had inexplicably saved his life. He had asked him why. Why, knowing that he was a fish-man and a member of Arlong's crew, did the old man still offer him aid?
The old man had looked at Hachi and smiled, a sad, knowing smile.
He had confessed that he had repeatedly considered killing Hachi while he was unconscious. His own son had died at the hands of Arlong because the island couldn't afford to pay the tribute – a debt Hachi's kind had imposed. But when he saw Hachi's helplessness, his utter misery, a cruel realization dawned on the old man: allowing Hachi to live with that suffering, to be haunted by his past, was a far greater, far more bitter punishment than a swift death.
Hachi, hearing those words, had been speechless. He knew it was all true. Arlong's pirates had brought misery to countless people. Hachi had decided to take his leave the next morning, intending to return to Fish-Man Island with Momoo.
But when he entered the cabin that night, he found the old man lying lifeless on the floor, a knife plunged into his heart. Hachi, consumed by fear and guilt, had fled, abandoning the island and its tragic secret.
On their long journey with Momoo, they drifted sorrowfully, the vast ocean mirroring the emptiness in his heart.
He was a ghost ship, haunted by the faces of his fallen comrades, the weight of his past dragging him down like an anchor.
Then, a dark shape pierced the horizon - a slave ship, its sails billowing with ill-gotten gains. Perhaps it was the echo of his own captivity that resonated within him, the phantom chains still chafing at his neck. Or perhaps it was a desperate attempt to atone for the sins of Arlong, a futile gesture against the tide of his guilt. Whatever the reason, Hachi resolved to sink the vessel, to tear down that floating cage of human misery. If he found any souls trapped within, he would offer them freedom, a chance at a life stolen by greed and cruelty.
It was there, inside the hull, amidst the splintered wood and the screams of the crew, that he discovered her. The little girl with hair the color of a winter storm, a stark contrast of black and white. He later learned her name was Lyre. She lay huddled inside a rusty iron cage, barely larger than herself, her small body bruised and emaciated. Her eyes, a startling crimson, were wide with terror, reflecting the flames engulfing the ship. She was shivering, not just from the cold sea spray, but from a deeper, more profound chill that had settled in her bones. She was clinging to life by a thread.
After sinking the slave ship, ensuring that its depraved crew would trouble no one again, Hachi set course for Loguetown, his heart pounding with a desperate urgency. Lyre's life was now in his hands, a burden he willingly shouldered.
He wandered the bustling streets of Loguetown, a fish out of water in a world that despised his kind. He begged for help from anyone who would spare him a glance, his voice hoarse from pleading. But the city's inhabitants turned a blind eye, their faces hardened by prejudice and fear.
He knocked on the doors of every clinic, his remaining tentacles trembling with exhaustion, pleading for someone, anyone, to treat Lyre.
He offered them all the berries he had, but they slammed the doors in his face, fearing the presence of a notorious and dangerous fish-man on their premises. "Get out!" they would shout, spitting on the ground near his feet. "We don't want your kind here!" Lyre, cradled in his tentacle hands, her breathing shallow and ragged, grew weaker with each passing moment. Hachi felt a familiar despair creeping in, the same hopelessness he had felt when the men in black Obliterated his crewmates.
But then, just as the last embers of hope threatened to extinguish, he stumbled upon a small, unassuming inn, its sign creaking gently in the wind. And standing in the doorway, a beacon in the gathering darkness, was Morison, the owner, his face etched with kindness and concern.
Hachi's voice trembled as he spoke of Morison, the innkeeper. "He was the only one who didn't turn me away," Hachi said, a glimmer of gratitude shining in his eyes. "He saw me as myself, not a monster."
Morison, a man with a kind face weathered by years of hard work, had taken one look at the frail child in Hachi's arms and immediately ushered them inside. "Quickly, quickly," he had said, his voice filled with concern. "We need to get her warm and comfortable."
He had led them to a small, but clean room on the second floor. He gently took Lyre from Hachi's tentacle hands and placed her on the softest bed he could find. "I'll get some blankets and hot water," he said, before hurrying off.
While Morison bustled about, Hachi stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do. He watched as Morison carefully wrapped Lyre in blankets, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Don't worry, little one," Morison murmured to Lyre. "You're safe now."
Once Lyre was settled, Morison turned to Hachi, his expression serious. "I'm no doctor, but I know someone who is," he said. "A friend of mine, a skilled physician who lives just outside of town. I'll send word to him right away."
True to his word, Morison dispatched a young boy to fetch the doctor.
While they waited, Morison tended to Lyre, wiping her brow with a cool cloth and offering her sips of water. He also offered Hachi food and drink, but Hachi refused, his stomach churning with anxiety.
It wasn't long before the doctor arrived, a wiry old man with a bag full of medical supplies. He examined Lyre thoroughly, his brow furrowed with concern. "She's in bad shape," he said, shaking his head. "Malnutrition, dehydration, a severe fever...and look at those whipping wounds. It's a miracle she's still alive."
The doctor worked tirelessly throughout the night, administering medicine and tending to Lyre's wounds. Morison stayed by his side, offering assistance and words of encouragement. Hachi could only watch, his heart heavy with worry.
As the sun began to rise, the doctor finally straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow. "She's stable for now," he said, his voice weary. "But she'll need constant care and attention if she's going to make it."
Morison nodded. "We'll take care of her," he said, his voice filled with determination. He then turned to Hachi, his eyes filled with compassion. "You look like you've been through a lot," he said. "You're lost, aren't you?"
Hachi nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "I don't know what to do," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I was planning to go back to Fishman Island, but with her condition... I just don't know anymore."
Morison placed a hand on Hachi's shoulder, his touch surprisingly strong. "Then stay here," he said. "Stay here and help me run the inn. I could use an extra pair of hands or tentacles, and you need a place to belong."
Hachi looked at Morison, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice trembling. "I'm a fish-man. People don't like my kind."
Morison smiled. "I don't care what you are," he said, "I care about what's in your heart. I see a good man, a man who cares deeply for that little girl, even though she's not of your species. That's all that matters to me."
Hachi, overwhelmed by Morison's kindness, could only nod, tears streaming down his face. He had found a home, a purpose, and a glimmer of hope in a world that had seemed so dark for so long.
And so, Hachi found himself working at Loafer Inn. He threw himself into the work, scrubbing floors, hauling supplies, and even learning to cook, though his squid-based dishes initially met with mixed reviews. He was a natural, and he quickly became an indispensable part of the inn's operations.
Morison, true to his word, treated Hachi with nothing but kindness and respect. He defended him against the occasional prejudiced customer, reminding them that Hachi was a valuable member of the community and a good man.
Slowly, grudgingly, some of the townspeople began to accept Hachi, recognizing his hard work and genuine desire to help.
Hachi, however, never forgot his primary reason for staying in Loguetown: Lyre. He visited her every day, sitting by her bedside and holding her hand. He would read her stories, sing her songs, and tell her about the wonders of the sea. Slowly, Lyre began to recover, her fever subsiding and her appetite returning. The light began to return to her crimson eyes, and a faint smile would occasionally grace her lips.
As Lyre grew stronger, Hachi started saving every spare penny he earned. He dreamed of giving her a better life, a life free from the horrors of slavery and prejudice. He scrimped and saved, foregoing new clothes and even some meals, determined to provide for her future.
Eventually, he managed to rent a small, but cozy house near the inn. It was nothing fancy, just a simple two-room house in the alley, but it was theirs. Hachi spent his evenings fixing it up, painting the walls, and filling it with furniture he had salvaged from the town's junkyard. He wanted to create a safe and comfortable haven for Lyre, a place where she could finally feel at peace.
He still yearned to return to the sea, to find his own purpose and to atone for his past. But for now, his priority was Lyre. He would stay in Loguetown, working for Morison, saving money, and waiting for Lyre to fully recover. He would give her the life she deserved, even if it meant postponing his atonement for a while.
Hachi's voice trailed off, his story complete. He looked at Guts with eyes filled with a mixture of hope and sadness. "Then... then you know the rest, Guts-san," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Guts turned his gaze towards Robin. He saw that her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were wet with tears. She sniffed softly, then met Guts' gaze and nodded, a silent confirmation that Hachi's story was true, devoid of any deception.
Guts closed his eyes for a moment, processing everything he had heard. The pain, the loss, the prejudice, the unwavering devotion... it was a heavy burden to carry. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes again, his gaze now fixed on Hachi. "And what about the orange-haired girl?" he asked, his voice low and steady. "What's her story?"
A flicker of hesitation crossed Hachi's face. He stammered slightly, avoiding Guts' direct gaze. "That... that's Nami-chan," he said, his voice barely audible. He then explained that when he was fleeing from the Marines, desperate to escape their relentless pursuit, he had stumbled upon her.
"Well... the Marines, they were shouting that she had pickpocketed them," he confessed, his two tentacle hands wringing nervously. "But Guts-san... I just couldn't leave her alone, to be caught by the Marines. So... so I took her along."
Guts Tsk-ed, no wonder she feels familiar, Guts thought. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke, his voice firm and decisive. "We'll be exploring the East Blue for a while before heading back to the Grand Line," he announced. "And later on, we plan to revisit the Ryugu Kingdom. You and Lyre are welcome to join us then."
Relief washed over Hachi's face, his mouth forming a wide, grateful smile. He had been planning to turn himself in if Guts agreed to help the girls, but not only did Guts agree, he even invited him to join! "Thank you, Guts-san! Thank you so much!" he exclaimed, bowing deeply. Then, a thought struck him. "Um... if it wouldn't be too much trouble... would it be alright if Momoo, my friend the sea cow, could come along too?"
Guts nodded his assent. "Fine by me," he said with a shrug. "And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Buggy usually hangs out in the lab down below. He can help with most things."
Guts then turned his attention to Nami, who was still sitting huddled with her knees drawn to her chest. "And you, little thief," he said, his voice laced with amusement, he almost called her Isidoro, "where do you want me to drop you off?"
Nami, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally looked up at Guts. The coldness in her eyes, which had been so prominent earlier, seemed to have thawed slightly, replaced by a flicker of warmth. "Cocoyashi," she replied curtly.
"Heh. Suit yourself," Guts said, a slight smirk playing on his lips.