I thought we were heading straight back to my cell, but apparently Jamie—or rather, Captain Oliver—had other plans for me. Our path veered, and before long, I realized our destination had shifted: Oliver's quarters.
The white tent stood before me, the same one I'd always assumed was just a temporary setup. But no—turns out this shabby thing was his chosen office, his personal room.
"I thought you said we were heading back? Why are we here?" I asked, raising a brow.
"That's what I wanted too, but the boss said otherwise." Jamie's reply came out lazy, though there was a trace of irritation in his tone, like he was just as annoyed about being delayed.
Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he dropped onto one of the crates, pulled out another cigarette, and lit it up. The smoke curled into the air, and he leaned back, settling into his usual routine while I was left standing in front of the tent.
Without sparing Jamie another glance, I pushed the flap aside and walked in alone. That was our unspoken rule—if it was work-related, he wouldn't involve himself in the slightest.
Inside, Captain Oliver was already waiting, lounging back in his chair with his legs propped up on the table. His posture was the same as always: relaxed, arrogant, and comfortable too.
When his eyes landed on me, he didn't speak. He just stared, silent and motionless, like he was measuring something. The seconds dragged on, stretching into a minute or two, until the silence pressed heavy on my. So I finally broke it.
"So? Is there something you want?" I asked, my tone sharp, probing for the reason he had called me here.
"Nothing."
The heck is that supposed to mean? He calls me here just to say nothing? Before I can rebuke him, though, his mouth opens again.
"Actually, I want your opinion on our new VIP."
So that's what this is about—he wants my point of view on the addict from CP0.
"What can I say? He looks calm, but he's an addict inside." I tell him exactly what I saw, no reason to hide it. He probably already knows, anyway. Maybe this so-called VIP has been one of my customer I never meet, and if that's the case, Oliver should be well aware of how far gone this man really is.
"That so?" Man, this guy always tries to act mysterious. Still, he isn't so bad—he is one of the rare few who doesn't discriminate on slaves, even though he is quite annoying sometimes.
"Is that it?" I asked, because if that's all he wanted from me, I'd rather be training than wasting time on this kind of talk.
"Yes, you can go." He waved a hand, dismissing me. "Ah, almost forgot. You can take this."
Something small and black landed in my palm—a package, light enough to carry but heavy enough to feel important.
"What is it?" I asked, but the only answer I got was another lazy wave of his hand, shooing me out of the tent.
Without bothering to check what was inside, I shoved the package into one of the pouches sewn into my ragged clothes and turned on my heel to leave the tent.
I had a hunch about what it might be. After all, I'd asked him for certain items before—maybe this was one of them.
Outside the tent, Jamie was still smoking. When he saw me, he just noded his head slightly, then turned and started walking toward my cell without so much as a glance to check on me.
--
When I was finally alone in my cell, I opened the package Oliver had given me. Inside was a new, shiny folding knife.
Now, you might ask, "Why a folding knife?" The reason is simple—knives are useful in countless situations. And why did I ask Oliver for one instead of just stealing? Because not a single folding knife exists here. Sure, there are regular knives, but you can't really conceal them. For some reason, the knives here are all larger than what I'm used to, bulky and hard to carry around. A folding knife, though—perfectly compact, perfectly concealable. Exactly what I needed.
I want to make the knife my main weapon. The reason is the same—concealment. It's nearly impossible for a slave to get a sword, and even harder to gain permission to carry one, usually you only get a sword in the colosseum and even then you need to be an important gladiator before they give you one, and I never get permission to enter the arena with sword before. Meanwhile, this knife can slip neatly into my inner pocket, hidden in plain sight. No one will ever suspect a thing… unless they decide to search my body.
Of course I won't use it in the colosseum, if they know I carry a knife in my daily, they will hang me before I can say knife.
Once I grew familiar with the folding mechanism—careful not to cut myself while snapping it open and shut—I began practicing the stabbing motions Darius once taught me. Because actually he trained me with all sorts of weapons, from bare hands to spears and swords. His principle was simple: use anything the battlefield offers. After all, in the chaos of combat, no one knows what weapon might fall at your feet.
Even though Darius just teach me the basic of the basic, but it's enough for now.
Swish. Swoosh. Swash.
I kept at it, training until the sky outside dimmed into evening. Once darkness settled, I knew it was about time for Boa's sisters to return. So, I reached for the sack and pulled it over my head—hiding the abomination that is my face, making sure Hancock would never have to see it.
Then, after a while, the sound of footsteps reached my ears—familiar footsteps I could recognize anywhere. Boa's sisters. After two years of training my Haki, I finally learned how to sharpen it enough to tell things apart: whether the person was big or small, whether they were carrying something, or even if they were upset—just from the way their steps hit the ground.
A minute or two later, the sisters' faces appeared in front of my cell before the guards dragged them into the one beside mine.
Two years had passed, and the girl who would one day be hailed as the most beautiful woman on the seas was already beginning to show traces of her future self. The roundness of childhood was slowly fading away, the excess chubbiness melting into shape, and her beauty was starting to shine through. Though I can't say the same for her two sisters—but they're not too bad either, the only problem just their proportions actually.
Like Sandy's head, which is so big it could fit more than a watermelon inside, Mari is also starting to grow bigger than she should be, probably because I always give them more food and their big appetites have made them what they are today.
When the three of them passed my cell, Hancock gave me a simple nod, while Sandy and Mari offered a small hand wave and a faint smile as their gesture of acknowledgment. Ever since I decided to keep some of my secrets from Hancock—and she, in turn, chose to keep hers from me—our relationship had taken on a strange, awkward air. Sure, we still spoke from time to time, and I continued telling them stories before bed, but those unspoken secrets hung between us like a wall. A wall neither of us wanted to breach, yet one we both knew was growing taller with each passing day.
[Boa Hancock – Age: 12 | Female]
Strength:
Speed: SS
Stamina: A
Devil Fruit: S+
Armament Haki: S
Observation Haki: SS
Conqueror's Haki: N/A
Intelligence: S
Charisma: EX
Leadership: B
Combat Skill: SS
Her stat sheet hasn't changed much in the two years I've known her—or anyone else's, really. The only difference lies in her Devil Fruit stat, which has now revealed itself since she already consumed one: the Mero Mero no Mi (Love-Love Fruit). With it, she possesses the ability to turn people into stone if they harbor love, lust, or even a fleeting sense of desire toward the caster (Hancock).
But aside from that, there hasn't been any other change. I don't even know if it's possible for these stats to shift at all. Of course, I've come up with a few theories—like, what would happen if someone turned themselves into a full cyborg, more metal than flesh, like Franky but taken to the extreme? If you replaced all your muscles with steel, what would happen to the Power, Speed, and Stamina stats then?
But there's nothing concrete for now—just theories scribbled on paper. I'll need to meet more unique people to truly understand the full potential and limits of these stat sheets. Still, that's not my priority. It's just a stray thought that surfaced before bed, nothing I actively dwell on. Watching the Boa sisters vanish from sight, I settle into the corner of my cell and grab the food left there—the foods I picked up from the guards' canteen earlier this afternoon.
--
PoV Hancock
V is a close friend of mine.
Ever since that fateful day, when he started hiding something from me, we've grown apart.
And I hate it.
Sometimes I wish I could just talk to him like before, like nothing ever changed. But something change, something about him feels different now—the way he talk, the way he acts, the way he moves, the little things he does, and he even started wearing that potato sack with doodles over his face—though doodles look kind of a little …cute, reminding me of scarecrow from back home—I know something's wrong. I think I've already guessed what it might be, but if he doesn't want to tell me, what else can I do?
And maybe I shouldn't judge him. Because I'm no better. I'm hiding something from him too. I don't want anyone to know. Not him, not my sisters, or anyone. Even till this day, my sisters still don't know what those men did to me when they guided me down into that dark, suffocating basement. The smell, the chains, the pain—it's burned into me. Even now, just thinking about it makes my stomach twist. I never told anyone, and I never will. Whatever happened in that basement… will stay locked in that basement forever.
But still… sometimes, when I hear the faint sound of his voice telling stories at night, I wish things were different. I wish I had the courage to reach out, to ask him directly, to tell him what I'm hiding too. Maybe then we wouldn't feel so far apart. Maybe then… I wouldn't feel so alone in this suffering.
When I finally stepped inside my cell, my eyes went straight to the corner where the food was laid out—enough for three people. A small kindness from V, something he always left behind for us. Better food than what any normal slave like us would ever get. Even now, I still don't know how he manages to bring it here. Did he take on extra work? Did he risk his life doing something dangerous? Or… did he steal it?
Every time I pick up the food and take a bite, those questions surface in my mind, questions with no answers. And every time, I push them back down, because asking him would mean breaking the fragile silence between us. V has too many secrets, more than I can ever count, and I'm not sure I can handle those secrets he hides behind that mask and those gestures. I want to know, that's for sure. but I don't think I can handle it.
When I saw my sisters already devouring their share, I couldn't help but smile faintly. Especially Mari—she's always been like this, eating with such hunger, even back when she was small. Food has always been her escape, her way of dealing with stress, and seeing her shovel it down now, I know she must be struggling more than she lets on. Sandy, on the other hand, was a little more composed, eating slower, but she still enjoyed every bite just as much.
Then, for a moment, they both stopped eating and looked at me.
"Sis, you eat too," Mari mumbled, her words muffled by a mouth full of food.
"What Mari said is right, sis. You need this food more than we do," Sandy added softly, her voice carrying genuine concern. That's how they've always been—Mari, the brute force who speaks bluntly without much thought, and Sandy, the thoughtful one, who notices the small things and worries more than she should. Together, they balance each other, filling in the cracks the other leaves behind.
And me? I just stared at the food in front of me, wondering how I was supposed to eat when my heart felt so chaotic right now.
But seeing their faces, their eyes so full of hope, waiting for me to pick up the food and eat with them—that's something I could never refuse. They are my weakness, the softest part of me that no mask could ever cover. Whatever they want, I'll try my best to give. Because they're all I have left in this world, the last pieces of family, and here in this wretched place, they're irreplaceable.
"Sure," I finally said, forcing a small smile as I reached for the food.
I sat down between Mari and Sandy, their warmth pressing in from either side as we ate together. I didn't say much, none of us did, but it didn't matter. The silence was comfortable enough. For a fleeting moment, with the taste of food in my mouth and my sisters by my side, I felt peace. A rare, fragile peace in this hellhole we're forced to call life.