Night had fallen, and the salty sea air swept across the Fishing Village. The torches along the pier flickered in the wind, blurring the outline of the Saw-Tooth Shark flag into little more than a shifting shadow.
Darius crouched beneath the pier, his metallic earlobes twitching at the faintest disturbance. A soft creak reached him—not the wind against wood, but knuckles brushing across the mossy wall of the old village chief's courtyard.
Lifting his gaze, he caught a glimpse of orange hair flashing under the pale moonlight.
Nami's skirt hem was damp with dew, leaving small streaks of water across the stone path. The compass at her waist glinted coldly, sharp as a needle.
The system gave a faint stir in his mind, [potential prompt detected], but he ignored it.
His instincts told him something. Her so-called "relocation of villagers" tonight wasn't as simple as she had claimed.
Darius moved to follow, light on his feet. Yet, his boot came down on a brittle pine branch. The sharp crack echoed through the night like a snapped bowstring.
Nami spun around instantly. The anchor she carried traced a silver arc in the air, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The compass point at her waist glimmered dangerously, aimed directly at his throat.
Her pupils narrowed to pinpricks, sharp with alarm. "Who?!"
By the moonlight, Darius saw the sweat sticking stray hairs to her forehead, her knuckles pale as she gripped her weapon.
This wasn't the reaction of a simple village girl. She was used to fighting in the dark.
"It's me." He lifted his hands, his metallic right arm glowing faintly blue beneath the moonlight. "Nami, put the compass down."
Her eyelashes trembled, the weapon in her hand wavering. "You… followed me?"
"I'm waiting for an explanation." Darius stepped closer, and as she moved to retreat, he caught her wrist—not in force, but in a steady hold, his warmth covering her chilled skin.
"You told me you were relocating villagers, yet here you are climbing the old village chief's courtyard wall," he said, his eyes flicking to the bulging cloth bag at her waist. "And whatever's inside that bag, it's not a sea chart, is it?"
Nami pulled sharply, her anchor striking his metallic arm with a dull clang. "Let go! This is my business!"
"Your business?" Darius drew her into a nearby abandoned warehouse, where the smell of mildew mingled with the sea breeze. The old beams creaked overhead. Positioning himself against the broken door, he shielded her from sight.
"Arlong's ship will dock soon. Running around now is suicide." His voice dropped lower. "Or… are you helping Arlong find something?"
The words pierced her like thorns. Nami flinched, her compass slipping from her grasp with a sharp clang. Her hands trembled, nails digging into her palms.
"I'm not!"
Her eyes reddened at the corners, and Darius felt his throat tighten.
"Then what were you doing in the village chief's attic?" His mind replayed the image—when she'd run earlier, the tips of her hair had been covered in dust. Not from relocation work, but from searching.
Nami bit her lip hard, saying nothing as moonlight streamed through the broken window, casting shadows over her trembling form.
"Nami." His tone softened. "I've saved you twice already. Once in the coconut grove when Arlong's men cornered you, and again at the pier when Johnny nearly destroyed your sea chart tube." He pulled a logbook from his coat, the faint glow of a Sea Stone pattern etched across its cover. "You promised to tell me the truth behind these charts. What are you so afraid of?"
Her shoulders shook violently. She stared at the compass on the ground, her voice so faint it was almost carried away by the breeze. "You wouldn't understand."
"I do." Darius knelt, lowering himself to her eye level. His metallic fingers brushed gently against the coral hairpin in her hair—the one Belle-Mere had given her. "I know what it's like to live under threats. I've been forced before, too. But you don't have to carry this alone."
Her head snapped up, her eyes shimmering with tears, caught between defiance and the need to break down.
Her hand lingered at the coral hairpin, and beneath the damp strands of orange hair, a fragment of yellowed paper was tucked away.
"What is that?" Darius asked quietly.
Her fingers tightened around the hairpin, digging into her scalp. For an instant, she wanted to tear it free, but memories of Belle-Mere's bloodied body and Arlong's merciless voice flooded her mind.
"Collect eighty million Berries, or I'll kill them all."
Her throat closed, words stuck like stones. Trembling, she reached for the hidden paper—
But footsteps outside cut through the tension. Chains dragged against the ground. Arlong's men had landed.
The warehouse walls shuddered with the sound of villagers preparing their defenses. Nami's hand froze on the hairpin. Her lips trembled, but no words escaped.
"I'm here," Darius murmured, squeezing her cold hand with his metallic palm. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together."
The footsteps drew closer, shadows swallowing the moonlight.
At last, she released her grip on the hairpin. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the yellowed paper. Her breath came in shallow gasps, like a cornered animal.
"This is…" she whispered—
"Nami! Darius!" The old village chief's voice rang outside. "The villagers are safe in the cave! Arlong's men are headed to the pier!"
Nami flinched, quickly pushing the paper back into her hair. She snatched the compass, shoving it into her bag. She didn't meet Darius's eyes, but in that fleeting glance, something had shifted.
A flicker of trust.
Together, they dashed into the night, the sound of chains scraping against stone close behind them.
When they finally reached Belle-Mere's old house, Nami collapsed against the door as it shut behind them. Her nails dug into Darius's hand. Moonlight exposed the paper fully now—a parchment, old and creased, edges stained dark red like dried blood.
Darius crouched before her, his metallic fingertips brushing the corner of the parchment. "Nami," he said softly. "Please. Tell me."
Her Adam's apple bobbed as tears welled in her eyes. "Three years ago…" Her voice shook. "The day Arlong came ashore… Belle-Mere shoved me into the cellar. I heard her scream, 'Nami is still a child! Kill me instead!' And then…" Her hands trembled as she clutched the parchment. "He said if I collected eighty million Berries, he'd spare the village."
Darius's pupils narrowed. He remembered the fresh earth on Belle-Mere's grave, the wildflowers trembling in the sea breeze.
This wasn't random piracy. It was a calculated extortion.
"So you made maps, stole charts… all to raise that ransom," he said, his metallic knuckles clenching tight.
Nami's tears finally fell. "They said if one chart went missing, ten villagers would die!" She tore the coral hairpin free, letting the parchment drop to the floor.
On it, jagged writing scrawled in dark green ink. At the bottom was Arlong's seal—a jagged shark's tooth pressed into the page. The ink shimmered faintly with unnatural residue.
"This parchment… it's mixed with Sea Stone dust and blood leech toxins," Nami whispered. "Every time I count money, it burns me. Like being pierced by a harpoon…"
"Nami!"
The door burst open. Martha stumbled in, soaked and breathless, clutching half a fishing net. "Johnny's patrolling with four Fishmen! They're clearing the village!" Her gaze fell to the parchment on the ground, her expression paling.
"Shh." Darius pulled the net over them.
The crunch of boots and the guttural breathing of Fishmen echoed outside. Nami's trembling hand knocked over a barrel of pickled fish, and brine spilled across the parchment, staining the words "eighty million" into an unreadable blotch.
A searchlight swept across the window. A harsh voice growled, "Something moved. Check it."
Before Darius could react, [system analysis triggered]. A golden mist formed in his palm, whispering: [Sea Stone toxins confirmed. Phantom pain linked to Nami's life force. Immediate isolation required.]
Nami's fingertips brushed the parchment—and she collapsed, clutching her chest. Her face drained of all color.
"Nami!" Darius caught her, pressing a hand against her back, feeling her heartbeat pound in painful bursts.
Her wide eyes reflected only terror—not of Arlong, but of the cursed contract itself.
Martha, desperation blazing in her eyes, hurled a salted fish through a broken window. "They went west!" she screamed.
The Fishmen gave chase, crashing into the house as Darius slipped into the inner room with Nami in his arms. Blood dripped from her fingertips where the brine had soaked in.
The parchment twisted in the shadows, its words writhing as if alive. Something hidden within had begun to stir.