1) East Blue Wind, Newgate White
The sky over East Blue was the kind of crisp, polished blue that made sailors want to sing. Heaven's Embrace crested the clouds like a leviathan of midnight and gold, wings unfurled, runes purring with barely contained power. Below, the Conomi archipelago glimmered like coins tossed into a shallow fountain; shells of villages cupped the shoreline, quiet in that awful way places get when hope has packed its bags and moved away.
Vegito leaned against the rail—white coat floating open behind him, high collar and epaulets cut in a silhouette reminiscent of a certain Emperor's captain's coat, everything tailored to his frame by the ship's fabricator. No bandana, of course. The dragon-woman figurehead smiled conspiratorially beneath him as if in on a joke the sea didn't get yet.
"East Blue," he murmured. "Time to keep a promise you never heard me make."
Heaven's Embrace answered with a subtle pitch downward. The folded wings flexed, catching the light as the ship slipped, whisper-quiet, toward a grove of orange trees ringing a cluster of homes. Cocoyasi Village.
The instant the keel kissed salt, the ship switched to sea mode without a ripple, sails unfurling like silk flags. Villagers peeked from shutters and alleys, eyes skittering off the impossible vessel as if it might punish them for staring.
Vegito hopped down to the pier. He didn't drop—he arrived, weightless, boots touching wood with a soft thud that somehow sounded like confidence.
"Yo," he said, as if he'd wandered in to borrow a cup of sugar, tail idly coiling. "Which way to the tangerines?"
Someone finally swallowed their terror long enough to point. He followed the path.
He didn't have to knock.
Nojiko's front door swung open before he lifted a hand, the purple-haired woman bracing a tray of steaming tea against her hip—poised, cautious, a small scar at the corner of her lip that seemed to refuse to heal out of principle.
"You're not from here." It wasn't a question.
"Vegito," he said. "Captain of Heaven's Embrace. Lover of tangerines. Friend—if you'll have me."
Her eyes cut past him to the ship, to the villagers whispering, to the sky like an escape hatch firmly bolted. Then back. She nodded for him to enter. "You're late," she said, tone flat.
"Late to what?"
"To saving us."
He smiled, slow and deliberate, then set the tray down himself as if this were his home. "I'm here now."
From the kitchen threshold, Nami appeared like a ghost snap-frozen as a person—orange hair tied up, gaze knife-sharp, hands a little too still. Distrustrrr—no, the word didn't do it justice. She was wound tight with years of bargaining with sharks who counted in blood.
"You better be more than a pretty coat," she said. "Arlong owns these waters. The Marines pretend not to see. And strangers who try to be heroes leave in pieces."
Vegito's grin tilted. "Strangers do. I'm not one."
"Ho ho ho!" a deep chuckle rolled from the back of his mind—an echo of a certain old man's mirth. It made him want to laugh. Instead he spread his hands. "I didn't come to negotiate with a fish. I came to end a debt."
Nami's jaw worked. That word—debt—snapped something in her eyes that sounded like a brittle string finally daring to hum. Nojiko stepped between them, protective by reflex. "And what do you want in return, Captain?"
"Your freedom," he said simply. "Your smiles. And your company—on my ship. No more tangerines sent to a monster as tribute. You'll be pirates if you choose, cartographers if you want, sisters always." He shrugged. "Also… a decent navigator wouldn't hurt."
Nami's laugh was short and cold. "I work for Arlong."
"You pay Arlong," Vegito corrected, gentle as a hammer. "But not for long."
"Why?" Nojiko asked.
"Because he brought shame to Fisher Tiger," Vegito said, and even the air seemed to pause, "and that's unacceptable."
Nami flinched, the name ricocheting through walls she never let anyone see. Vegito's tone hadn't risen, but the room felt warmer. Livelier. Like someone had cracked a window open in a house that had forgotten how to breathe.
"Show me Arlong Park," he said.
Nami looked away first. "If you make a move, they'll kill people to punish me."
Vegito's smile thinned. "No. They won't."
2) Arlong Park: Teeth, Gills, and Theater
The gates of Arlong Park splayed open like a jaw bragging about dental work. The fish-men lounged in the courtyard with their feet on the backs of villagers forced to kneel, laughter slapping the air. A flag fluttered overhead: shark skull, swords. Proclamations tacked to posts in a hand that could be read like a weapon—TAX DAY. FAILURE = EXECUTION.
Arlong himself reclined on a throne chair carved to look like he'd yoked a sea king. He flexed his saw-shark nose as a party trick whenever a child stared too long. Hachi polished swords nearby, humming. Chew sat with a jug of water like a preacher with a flask.
When Vegito walked through the gate with Nami and Nojiko at his flanks, conversation paused, then flowed again with meaner color.
"And what's this?" Arlong drawled, dragging the word this as if tasting meat. "Another human hero? Did you forget to bleed before entering? We charge a fee."
Vegito cupped a hand by his ear, eyes squint-smiling. "Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of how irrelevant you're about to be."
A ripple of laughter—not from fish-men—flickered at the far wall among the villagers. It died quick under a glare. Arlong rose, the deck creaking as if even wood minded its posture around him.
"You think you're strong?"
"I know I'm strong," Vegito said. "But we're not here for arm-wrestling. We're here for theater."
"Eh?"
Vegito blurred. He didn't even vanish—he arrived in front of Arlong between beats of a disrespectful drum only he could hear. A single finger flick tapped Arlong's nose. The sound was like a bamboo rod striking water: tok. The saw-shark stumbled backward six paces and crashed through a table stacked with betting chips. Silence held for exactly the amount of time it takes a dropped coin to stop rolling.
Then everything happened.
Hachi leaped, six swords crossing arcs. Vegito tilted his head and let them slide past his cheek as if he'd simply remembered to move a fraction of the world two inches to the left. Chew spat a geyser that could gouge stone; Vegito held out a palm, split it down the middle, and patted each side like magicians petting doves.
Arlong bellowed, rage percolating into words. "HUMAN!"
Vegito's brow lifted. "Racist and derivative."
Arlong lunged, jaws widening with a chittering grind, teeth like a bear trap. Vegito moved his hand the way one might shoo a fly, and Arlong's face slammed sideways into a pillar hard enough to knock a shower of dust off the rafters. A spray of bricks: confetti the color of failure.
"Let's talk," Vegito said conversationally, catching Hachi by the wrists and spinning him lightly onto his back. "About shame."
He walked in a slow circle around Arlong, hands in his pockets, tail flicking an idle metronome. "Fisher Tiger—do you ever say his name without choking on it? Do you remember the weight of chains and the taste of salt in wounds when he climbed the Red Line to tear a world's lie open? Or do you only remember how to tax little girls who draw maps?"
The fish-men bristled. A vein woke in Arlong's neck. "Shut. Up."
"I'm not interested in shut up," Vegito said, mild. "I'm interested in grow up."
Arlong charged again, hakied up fins bulging with power. Vegito stopped him with a single index finger pressed to his forehead. The pose looked lazy; it held a small apocalypse.
"See, your strength without compassion is cheap costume. Your pride without honor is just loud hunger. You were born into a story that asked you to be better than what was done to you… and you picked money." Vegito smiled sadly. "You brought shame to Fisher Tiger."
Arlong spat blood. "Humans—"
Vegito's finger gently pushed. Arlong skidded, root-chopping chunks of earth with his heels until he hit the far wall and kept going a meter through it. Dust breathed up across the courtyard in a quiet gasp.
Nami watched with a face that had forgotten its own language. Nojiko's hands were clasped so tightly the knuckles looked snowed in.
"Enough!" Hachi snapped, rising with all six swords shimmering. "Octo-Slicing—"
Vegito stepped into his guard and pinched the flat of each blade between two fingers, pausing them mid-slash, then stacked them together in his hand like cards and returned the pile politely. "Neat form. Wrong captain."
Hachi blinked. Chew roared and drew a bead, water bullet as clean and mean as a musket shot. Vegito inhaled—and the bullet stopped, swirling into a harmless ribbon that he tied into a bow and flicked back into Chew's jug. A few villagers laughed for real this time, low and disbelieving, as if a memory of joy had crawled out of a crawlspace.
Arlong tore free of the wall like a bad tooth coming out of stubborn gum. He reached for his Kiribachi—that spiked monstrosity of a saw-blade—and swung. The air howled. Vegito met it with his forearm, no Haki visible, and the weapon rebounded like it had struck a mountain pretending to be a man.
"Let me be very clear," Vegito said, voice low now. "Today ends with your blood on your own doorstep. But I'm enjoying the conversation."
Arlong screamed and leaped, gathering his full strength. Vegito let him. He let the swing come, let it crash against his palm, let the wood beneath their feet crack—a cruel theater of almost. Then Vegito bent the weapon's spine with his fingers and hung it around Arlong's neck like an ugly necklace.
"Humiliation phase: complete," he said lightly.
He snapped his fingers. The pillars of Arlong Park trembled. Wood detonated upward in living spirals—Vegito's Wood Release dancing like trees that had been waiting two years in his bones to be invited to a party. Roots trussed the lieutenants; vines gagged cruel mouths mid-curse. A new bamboo archway stitched itself out of the earth over the courtyard, script etching itself across its beam in softly glowing letters:
DEBTS ARE OVER.
Arlong saw his legend crumple into civic signage and something unlovely broke in his roar. He launched again, muscles stacking. Vegito's hand flicked—and Arlong collapsed as if strings had been cut. Not dead. Not yet. The fish-man felt it: the careful restraint, the studied not killing. It burned.
"Last words?" Vegito asked.
Arlong's eyes slid to Nami. The hate there was old and stupid. "You think they'll sing your name? They'll call you monster, too."
Vegito didn't look away from him, but his voice warmed as it angled back. "Hey, navigator—if I'm a monster, I'm one who brings blankets and burns cages."
Nami's throat worked.
Arlong spat again, but the saliva was just red water now. "I take your head to the sea."
"Cute." Vegito's ki rose—a thin crown of light no one here had language for. He reached down and pinched Arlong's nose between two fingers like a parent about to tell a kid to stop pouting.
"This," he said softly, "is for Bell-mère."
The flick broke the world.
Arlong's skull dented inward, spine writhing like it had realized it supported the wrong story. The body slumped, arrogance evacuating like air from a bellows. Dead didn't come with a scream. It came with a sentence finally stopping mid-word.
Silence. Then—
A sound started in Nojiko's chest—half sob, half laugh—and spread along the wall like a contagion the village had needed: relief. People cried like they'd been holding a breath since childhood.
Vegito didn't bow. He just stood there for a heartbeat longer and let the world realize the math had changed.
3) Interlude: Captain Nezumi, Rodent with a Badge
Elsewhere, a Marine ship bobbed with bureaucratic dignity. Captain Nezumi pressed a handkerchief to his nose, allergic to the scent of justice.
"Arlong's doing good business for us," he muttered to himself, flipping through ledger pages that read like a ransom note. "If he's ruffled, we'll wring the villagers to remind them of their gratitude."
A petty officer jogged up, saluting in that tainted way people did when they'd been taught respect as a synonym for fear. "Sir—reports from Cocoyasi. A… flying ship just landed."
Nezumi stared. "…A what?"
"Also, sir—someone's fighting Arlong."
Nezumi weighed the ledger and smiled thinly. "Then someone needs to be taxed."
He turned to the helmsman. "Set course. And prepare the impound paperwork."
4) Revival: A Mother's Name, Spoken Present Tense
Nami walked across the courtyard like sleepwalking. The words on the arch glowed: DEBTS ARE OVER. People were hugging, yelling, kneeling just to touch dirt without begging it. Nojiko held her by the shoulders as if to anchor her.
Vegito stepped into their shadow without crowding it. "One more thing," he said softly. "A promise I want to keep that you didn't ask me to."
Nami flinched—old reflex: deal, trick, sting. "What… what do you want now?"
He smiled in a way that felt like sitting on a warm pier with your feet in the water. "For you to have what was stolen from you."
She couldn't answer. The words wouldn't navigate that grief.
Vegito lifted his hand. The air thickened with a hush that felt like the ocean kneeling. The system chimed in the private place behind his eyes.
[Revival Protocol: Target Confirmation]Target: Bell-mère (Human, Female, Former Marine, Mother of Nami & Nojiko)Status: Deceased (10+ years)Cost: Paid.Safety: Confirmed.
Ki pooled in his palm, white and gold, the color of sky milked through bone. It spread across the courtyard in delicate filaments that sought memory like roots seeking water. They found it—here, where she'd fallen, taxes demanded at gunpoint. They found the echo of a woman who had laughed first and fought second and loved always.
Light budded.
A shape unfolded from the brightness, as if drawn by a careful hand—first the outline, then the weight, then the breath. The scar across the cheek arrived last, almost an afterthought, but there because some marks are part of a person's face the way freckles are constellations.
Bell-mère opened her eyes.
In the first breath she took, there were two girls again who weren't girls anymore, and they said something like "Mama" and "Mom" at the same time but the sound wasn't language; it was a home key struck after a thousand wrong notes.
She looked down at herself—the callused hands, the familiar Marine posture sneaking into her spine like a reported for duty that never quite washes out. Then up, at Nami, at Nojiko, at the world un-tilting under their feet.
"Hey, brats," she said hoarsely, and grinned. "Who let you get tall without me?"
They collided. Laughter and sobbing braided; a knot untied itself in a crowd of hearts. A man who had worked the same field for twenty years and never cried wept like rain on dry season. Nojiko said "I didn't think—we couldn't—" and Nami said nothing at all because sometimes the smartest thing you can do is let grief and joy wear your voice as their coat.
Bell-mère peered over their shoulders at Vegito with an appraisal only ex-Marines can summon: how dangerous, how principled, how much of that smile is armor, how much of that aura is a promise.
"Name?" she asked.
"Vegito," he said.
"Son, I don't know what you are," Bell-mère said frankly, "but I can smell intent. Thank you."
He shrugged. "Welcome back."
Behind them, villagers began whispering words that would travel: miracle, angel, monster, pirate, savior. Words don't describe events; they wrestle them into handles. This one needed a fleet of new vocabulary.
Nami scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and turned, face blotchy and perfect. "What do you want from us?"
Vegito tilted his head. "Choose a life. If it has horizon in it, I have a ship."
Bell-mère snorted. "Let me guess—we're talking about piracy?"
"Freedom with good catering," he said. "And a future where no little sister ever pays rent to a shark."
Nojiko's smile broke through like sunlight under a door. "We'll need to pack."
Nami stared at the arch again, at the words that changed the flavor of air. "I have maps to move," she whispered, almost to herself.
"And I have a woman to punch," Bell-mère added, cracking her knuckles. "If the Marine who helped Arlong shows her face."
"Funny you should say that," Vegito said, glancing seaward.
5) Nezumi, Unmasked
The Marine ship nosed into the bay with smug geometry. Nezumi stood at the bow flanked by riflemen, smile slick as an eel in oil.
"Citizens!" he cried, voice pitched to bully. "By order of the World Government, we're here to collect contraband and levy fines for disturbance of the peace."
He took in the destroyed Arlong Park, the corpse, the impossible arch and the DEBTS ARE OVER glowing like a verdict.
"And to arrest whoever is responsible for… this."
Vegito stepped forward, coat flaring like a page being turned. "That would be me. Vegito. Hi. Welcome to your last day as a corrupt man."
Nezumi's eyes ticked to Arlong's corpse, to Nami's face, to the villagers' posture—straight for the first time in years. A mouse trapped in a room with a cat who liked deadlines.
"You admit guilt."
"I admit agency," Vegito said pleasantly. "Guilt's your field."
The captain gestured. Marines raised rifles. Vegito exhaled—gentle as a lullaby. The rifles peeled themselves apart into neat piles of harmless components that chimed when they landed: a tinkle like wind bells in winter.
Nezumi gaped. "Devil Fruit," he hissed, like an accusation.
"Something like that," Vegito said. "Let's talk taxes. How much did Arlong pay you to ignore slavery?"
A petty officer tried to melt into the deck. Nezumi blustered. "Slander! I—"
Vegito snapped his fingers. A vortex of paper lifted out of Nezumi's coat pockets and the ship's office below—the ledgers, the signed receipts, the impound forms all helpfully pre-dated. They whirled above the courtyard like shame-snow before stacking themselves into a tidy pyramid at Bell-mère's feet.
She stared at them, then back at Nezumi. "You took their childhoods and called it procedure."
Nezumi broke. "Shoot him!"
Every rifle in the bay was a pile of civilized scrap. Marines looked at their hands like they'd forgotten how to hold sin.
Vegito's voice didn't rise; it deepened. "Captain Nezumi, you will return every Berry you ever took from Cocoyasi within twenty-four hours and you will sign a confession naming your benefactors. You will personally apologize to each household." He smiled. "We'll keep it local justice for now."
Nezumi tried to square his tiny shoulders. "You think the brass won't hear of this?"
"I hope they do," Vegito said. "I'm auditioning."
He drew his hand down, palm slicing the air, and the Marine ship settled five degrees lower into the water as if the ocean had decided to take weight more seriously. Men stumbled. Nezumi clutched the rail with squeaking rage.
Bell-mère cracked her neck. "If you don't comply," she said conversationally, "I will come to your ship, Captain, and I will be very Marine about it."
Nezumi swallowed. He had climbed a ladder in a world of sharks by learning exactly when to scurry. He scurried.
"Fine," he snapped. "Fine! We will… process… the refunds."
"Good rat," Vegito said. "Now leave."
The ship scrambled a retreat, dignity in tatters, flags drooping like ears.
Vegito watched them go, then glanced at Nami. "You were going to rob him later, weren't you."
Her lips curled. "You ruined my plan."
"I like yours better," Bell-mère said, clapping Vegito on the shoulder hard enough to bruise a lesser god. "Now—who wants to rebuild a village?"
6) Wood and Song
Reconstruction didn't creep; it burst. Vegito's hands pressed to earth and wood unfurled like ideas—frames of homes rising in breaths, beams slotting together with satisfying thunks, roofs blossoming like sails catching wind. Children chased living vines that braided into fences and then snuck them tiny flowers as if bribing guards.
Bell-mère took charge of the crew that actually did the work—assigning tasks with a sergeant's bark and a mother's humor. "Riku! The wall's not flirting with you; hammer it. Kaya—no, that's not your name. Who are you? I don't care—hold the ladder. Nami, quit scowling and tell the wood wizard where you want your map room."
Nojiko supervised the orchard with a lover's eye, every tree a friend she could finally stop apologizing to for not being able to protect. Nami stood on the ridge of a new house and assumed the stance of someone checking angles, but really it was the stance of a person learning the shape of a world where taking a deep breath isn't a sin.
As the sun leaned into gold, a feast sprouted. Tables from nowhere, food from somewhere (Vegito had hunted the sea like a playful storm that only wanted to wrestle). Tangerine wine uncorked. Someone produced a shamisen. Someone else couldn't sing but did anyway. Laughter scuffed the fear off corners.
Bell-mère took the center with a pirate's shanty learned in a past life she'd never had, voice raspy and warm:
"Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle—of juice from a tree we refused to sell.Sing for the brats who wouldn't bow,and for the devil who rang the bell!"
People cheered. Vegito toasted with something violently orange. He didn't drink much; he didn't need it. He was already drunk on the sight of a village remembering how to be a village.
At a lull, Nami sidled up, hip bumping his thigh like she hadn't meant to do it. "So, Captain," she said dryly, tasting the word like an experiment. "You want a navigator."
"I want you," he said, and her heartbeat did something audible in her own ears. "And your sister. And your mother if she wants. And anyone else who wants to trade a house for a horizon."
Nami searched his face with the precision she used on currents. "What do you want the horizon for?"
"Family," he said. "Food. Treasure. Laughter. Picking fights with people who need to be humbled. A king's name, maybe." He shrugged. "You get to put your name on the map of that life."
She tried to hide a smile in her cup and failed. "If I come with you, Captain, I set conditions."
"Hit me."
"You pay me."
"Generously."
"You listen when I say a storm is coming."
"I'll bring blankets."
"You don't take my charts."
"Your work stays yours."
She nodded, pretending to think while already decided. "I join. On a trial basis."
Nojiko tapped his other shoulder with a cup. "I'll join to make sure she doesn't kill you."
Bell-mère slid in from the side, crooked grin. "I'll join to make sure I don't kill you."
Vegito's laugh rolled and caught other laughs on the way, snowballing. "Then I accept," he said formally, pretending there was a contract somewhere. "Welcome to Heaven's Embrace."
"Ho ho ho!" Bell-mère tried the laugh on, liked it, kept it. Nojiko's laugh chimed brighter. Nami's was quick and stolen and tucked away like she'd always meant to save it for a day like this.
7) Night Gifts and Secret Hopes
Later, under lanterns hung from new eaves, Vegito held up a small velvet case. "For later," he said, pressing it into Nami's hands.
She eyed it like it might bite. "If this is jewelry—"
He shook his head. "It's a key." He tapped his temple when she frowned. "To a future."
She cracked the case open to find a palm-sized token—engraved with a stylized heart and a cross through it like a physician's sigil drawn by someone who loved calligraphy. It hummed against her skin. She closed the lid fast, pulse jumping without knowing why. "You're infuriating."
"I'm fun."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm your captain."
"…trial basis," she muttered, but her mouth softened on the edges of the word captain like it had discovered a new vowel.
Nojiko, less shy with gratitude, squeezed his hand. "Thank you for giving me my mother back."
"Thank you for letting me meet her," Vegito said. "She's a menace. We need that on a ship."
Bell-mère walked up with a basket of tangerines like an offering to a friendly volcano. "I am coming," she said. "But I'm not calling you 'Captain' unless you earn it twice."
"Deal," he said. "You can call me Vegito. Or 'Oi, you menace.'"
She smirked. "We'll see which sticks."
8) World Ripples: The First Wanted Poster
At dawn, the News Coo made a risky decision and flew into Cocoyasi, wings canted with gossip. Papers thudded onto the new porches. A smaller stack bore a smell of fresh ink.
Children were the first to scream. "POSTERS! WANTED POSTERS!"
Vegito took his with a bemused arch of brow.
WANTEDVEGITOCaptain of Heaven's Embrace80,000,000 BERRIESFor destruction of Arlong Pirate stronghold, disruption of Marine operations, unlawful use of unknown abilities, and general threat to the stability of East Blue.
The portrait was surprisingly handsome. He gave it a jaunty two-finger salute in the image.
Nami stared. "Eighty… already?"
Bell-mère whistled. "That's a first day on the job number."
Nojiko's eyes were half proud, half terrified. "This will bring trouble."
"It will bring lunches," Vegito said. "Bounty hunters are walking picnic baskets."
A second sheet fluttered out—blank silhouettes, names omitted. Associates of 'Vegito'. No bounties yet. Nami exhaled slowly.
"Good," she said, a little fiercely.
A final insert—a blurb from East Blue HQ that read like a scolding memo—mentioned an internal inquiry regarding Captain Nezumi. Bell-mère's smile was all teeth. "I'll send them copies of the ledgers."
Vegito heard a faint mechanical chime in his vision.
[System Update]Significant Event: Liberation of Cocoyasi & Defeat of Arlong Pirates.Reputation: Sky-Treading Devil (Regional).Bounty: 80,000,000 (Initial).Crew: +3 (Nami, Nojiko, Bell-mère).Hidden Perk Unlocked: Hearts at Ease – You gain a small passive buff when your crew sleeps safely aboard Heaven's Embrace.Shop Stock Rotation: Special Medical Category (Because of prior purchase interest).
He grinned. "Nice."
Nami squinted. "You just got good news, didn't you."
"Maybe."
"Share with the class."
"Later," he said, and she rolled her eyes, but she didn't push. She would. Eventually.
9) HQ: Sengoku's Furrow
At Marine Headquarters, a den den mushi coughed to life with bureaucratic phlegm.
"Marshal Sengoku," a voice droned, "East Blue report. The Arlong Pirates have been eradicated by an unknown… individual. Flying vessel confirmed. Captain Nezumi has filed financial irregularities—ahem—we are investigating."
Sengoku, who had outlived surrenders and stubbornness and understood the flavor of storms before they formed, pinched the bridge of his nose. Beside him, a goat ate a corner of paper it hadn't been given permission to eat. Garp laughed at something unrelated in the next room.
"An unknown individual with a flying ship," Sengoku repeated. "And you assigned Nezumi to the inquiry."
"Sir, he—"
"Send a proper officer," Sengoku said. "And copy me on any photographs. Anyone who knocks over a nest like Arlong's in East Blue either doesn't know what he's doing… or knows exactly what the board looks like."
He turned the receiver with fingers that still remembered knuckles bruised by justice and looked out at a sea that had lied to and loved him in equal measure.
"Keep an eye on him," he murmured, more to the horizon than the snail. "If he's a flame, we need to know whether to warm our hands or call the fire brigade."
The goat bleated, approving of either option so long as paper was involved.
10) Cast Off: Heaven's Embrace, Four Berths Full
Morning painted the water like polished steel. Heaven's Embrace floated with a predator's patience, wings folded to sleek panels, figurehead smirking as if she could smell the tangerines packed aboard.
Nami walked up the gangplank with a single bar of oranges slung over her shoulder and a satchel of charts and dreams over the other. Nojiko followed, looking back at the orchard only once and then not again—when you choose a horizon, you choose it with both feet. Bell-mère came last, a cigarette at her lip and a rifle over her shoulder purely for the aesthetics of a woman who knew how to accessorize with competence.
On deck, the ship seemed to preen. Runes lit one after another like polite applause. Below, the clothing fabricator sighed awake.
Vegito spread his arms. "Welcome home."
Nami did a quick spin like she had promised herself she wouldn't—taking in the decks, the rail heights, the sightlines, the wind. She stopped in front of the wheel, ran a hand along the polished teak, and smiled a smile that made Vegito want to pick a fight with the sun for not being worthy of it.
"You touch my wheel without permission," she said, "and I make you walk your own wings."
"Yes, ma'am."
Nojiko peered over the rail at the water, elbows planted. "Where first?"
Vegito's eyes softened. "A friend who coughs when she laughs. A town that forgot it used to dance." He looked at Nami. "Syrup Village."
Bell-mère slid a new coat over her shoulders—the ship had made her something crisp, white, and practical, with orange-stitched epaulets and a tiny tangerine emblem at the collar. She preened in the reflective glass of a porthole. "If every port gives me a wardrobe, I'm not leaving."
"Perks of piracy," Vegito said.
Nami took the wheel.
"Cast off," she ordered, already Captain in the way that mattered: the voice that made wood lean forward and water pay attention.
Lines leapt from cleats like they were excited to be useful. Sails climbed the masts in a rush. Heaven's Embrace slid backward, turned, and then—oh, then—she rose. Not far, not yet. Just enough for the villagers to gasp again and then laugh because gasping was becoming a sport around here. She settled, wings tucked tight, proud and nimble.
The figurehead—was that a wink? No, no, ships don't wink. Except this one did.
Vegito stepped beside Nami and pointed ahead. "Next arc," he said, because he liked admitting they were in one. "We pay a call on pirates who dress like cats and a girl who thought she'd die young."
Nami's hand found the wheel's rhythm. "You're sure she'll want to sail?"
"I'm sure she'll want to live," he said. "I'm just going to make sure she gets to choose what that means."
Bell-mère tipped her head back and yelled at the sky, voice thick with too many good things to keep inside. "Oi, world! We're coming!"
Nojiko laughed. "You're supposed to be stealthy."
Bell-mère grinned. "We already put up a sign, sweetie."
On the arch back in Cocoyasi, the words kept glowing even after the ship slipped into the distance: DEBTS ARE OVER. People would bring their children to see it and tell them about a day when a stranger flicked a monster to death and gave them their mother back. That's how legends colonize mornings.
Vegito leaned on the rail and let the East Blue wind sing through his coat. He pulled up his status without thinking—habit now, like taking a pulse.
Status Check (Post-Arlong Arc)
[Status Screen]Name: VegitoRace: Saiyan (Full-Blooded)Title: Sky-Treading Devil (Regional), Captain of Heaven's EmbraceBounty: 80,000,000 (East Blue Issuance)
Attributes:
Strength: ∞
Speed: ∞
Endurance: ∞
Intelligence: S+
Ki Control: S+
Haki Mastery: S+
Techniques: (no change; incremental refinement)
Kame Style Arsenal (stable)
Rokushiki + Rokuogan (stable)
Wood Release (applied to construction / restraints)
Instant Transmission (restrained use in public)
Kaioken (no backlash)
Ultra Instinct (Omen) in Base (stable)
Crew:
Nami (Navigator) – Joining conditions: Paid fairly, chart autonomy, storm veto
Nojiko (Operations/Orchard & morale) – Conditions: Keep sister alive, keep ship fun
Bell-mère (Quartermaster/Small Arms/Spirit) – Conditions: Earn 'Captain' twice daily
Ship: Heaven's Embrace (Supreme-Class) – Loyalty: Smug
Special Items:
Heal-Heal Fruit (Paramecia) – Reserved for Kaya (Syrup Village)
Library Key (Ohara Index Active)
Clothing Fabricator (Crew Profiles: Initialized for three)
Perks:
Hearts at Ease – Crew rest aboard grants minor passive buffs to recovery and morale
Local Legend – East Blue rumor spread x2 (faster bounty scaling)
He closed the screen, satisfied. The sea smelled like citrus and the first chapter of a book you already know you'll finish at 3 a.m.
"Oi, Captain," Bell-mère called, testing the word for fun. "What's the policy on pets?"
"Universal amnesty for cute things," Vegito said.
"Good. I want a seagull that steals only from Marines."
Nami snorted. "I'll put it on the map."
Nojiko elbowed her. "You can't put birds on maps."
"You absolutely can," Nami said, mock-haughty. "It's called… decorative realism."
Heaven's Embrace laughed in her timbers—just a creak, really, but one that sounded, impossibly, like a chuckle.
The ship turned her beautiful nose toward the horizon. Syrup Village waited—a girl with a cough and a destiny she'd never dared write in ink. Beyond that, a thousand storms that would learn what it felt like to be gentled by a man who flicked tyrants and bought futures for his friends.
"Next stop," Vegito said, "we make a doctor without a degree." He tapped the pocket where a velvet case slept. "And we teach a town how to dance again."
"Set course," Nami answered, and the wheel obeyed her like it had been waiting all its life to be held properly.
The East Blue wind sang them forward, and for once the song didn't sound like warning. It sounded like welcome.