The days before the pirates arrived were heavy.
Greyshore moved, worked, and breathed—but beneath it all, tension coiled tight like a drawn bowstring. Nets were repaired faster than usual. Boats were pulled farther inland. Voices lowered when strangers passed.
Joe noticed everything.
He always did.
He didn't run around shouting about pirates or pretend he could fight them. He didn't dream of charging a ship with a stick in his hand.
He knew better.
Bravery isn't stupidity, he reminded himself.
That didn't mean doing nothing.
Joe sat near the docks one afternoon, listening.
"…If we hide the supplies, they'll burn the storehouse."
"…Last time they took three people."
"…Marines won't come. They never do."
That last sentence stuck with him.
Joe clenched his fists.
That evening, he approached Rook while the hunter cleaned his rifle.
"Rook," Joe said quietly.
Rook glanced at him. "If you're about to suggest fighting pirates, don't."
Joe shook his head. "I won't."
That made Rook pause.
Joe took a breath. "I know I can't fight them. Not yet. But… I don't want to be useless either."
Rook studied him carefully.
"What are you thinking?"
Joe hesitated, then spoke clearly. "Evacuation routes. Hiding places. If things go bad."
Rook stared at him.
"…You've thought about this."
Joe nodded. "If we assume we'll lose, we can still survive."
Rook exhaled slowly.
"That's not a child's way of thinking," he muttered.
"No," Joe agreed. "It's someone who's lost before."
They spent the next hour talking quietly. Joe suggested moving children and elderly into the forest paths he already knew—paths too narrow for armed men to move quickly through. Rook corrected him where he was wrong, improved where he was right.
For the first time, Rook didn't treat him like a kid.
That night, the village headman reluctantly agreed to preparations—quiet ones. No panic. No open resistance.
Joe didn't feel proud.
He felt afraid.
This is real, he thought. People can get hurt.
The next day, the ship arrived.
The black sail cut through the morning fog like a blade.
A horn sounded.
Low. Cruel.
Pirates poured onto the shore—armed, laughing, confident. Their captain strode forward, a broad man with scars across his face and cruel eyes.
"Greyshore!" he called. "You know the price."
Joe stood near the back, hidden among villagers. His heart pounded, but his face stayed calm.
Observe, he told himself. Don't rush.
The captain's eyes swept the crowd.
"Same deal as last time," he said. "Supplies. Gold. And one extra—just to remind you who owns these waters."
Murmurs spread.
Joe's stomach dropped.
One extra.
His gaze flicked to the children. The elderly.
They're going to take someone.
Rook's hand tightened on his rifle—but he didn't raise it.
Joe understood.
If we fight now, everyone dies.
The headman stepped forward, shaking. "We'll give what we can."
The captain sneered. "Not enough."
His eyes landed on a young fisherman.
Joe's breath caught.
No.
His mind raced.
Think. Think.
If he shouted, he'd be ignored.
If he attacked, he'd be killed.
If he stayed silent—
Someone disappears.
Joe felt that warmth again in his chest—not flaring, not exploding.
Focused.
He stepped forward.
Not boldly.
Not recklessly.
Just enough.
"I know where more supplies are."
The words left his mouth before fear could stop them.
The village froze.
Rook's head snapped toward him.
The pirate captain turned slowly. "You?"
Joe kept his posture relaxed. Non-threatening.
"Yes," Joe said. "Hidden. From storms."
The captain laughed. "And why should I believe a runt?"
Joe met his gaze steadily. "Because if I'm lying, you can kill me after."
A dangerous silence fell.
The captain's grin widened.
"I like you."
Rook's eyes burned into Joe's back.
I'm sorry, Joe thought. But this is the least bad option.
The captain gestured. "You lead. Slowly."
Joe nodded.
He didn't walk toward the forest.
He walked toward a side storehouse—one the pirates would've found anyway.
Control the damage.
Inside, supplies were taken. Less than they wanted—but enough to satisfy greed.
The captain clicked his tongue. "Still short."
Joe's pulse hammered.
"…There's more inland," Joe said carefully. "But the paths are dangerous."
The captain studied him, then laughed. "Not worth it."
He waved a hand. "Fine. This time."
The pirates retreated, laughing, dragging loot back to their ship.
Greyshore breathed again.
Only when the ship vanished did Joe's legs give out.
Rook caught him before he fell.
"You idiot," Rook hissed. "Do you have any idea—"
Joe looked up, eyes steady despite his shaking body.
"I knew exactly," he said.
Rook froze.
"You didn't charge," Joe continued quietly. "You didn't provoke them. You didn't resist."
Rook stared at him.
Joe swallowed. "I just… redirected."
Silence.
Then Rook laughed softly—once.
"…You're terrifying," he said.
Joe didn't smile.
That night, Joe sat alone by the shore.
The sea was calm, deceptively so. Moonlight danced across the waves, and the village behind him slept—exhausted, shaken, but alive.
Only now did his hands begin to tremble.
Joe clenched them, forcing himself to breathe slowly.
In.
Out.
I was scared, he admitted to himself. Terrified.
His heart had felt like it would burst when the pirate captain looked at him. One wrong word—one wrong step—and this second life would have ended just as abruptly as the first.
But he hadn't frozen.
And he hadn't lashed out either.
He stared at his reflection in the water.
"I didn't run," he whispered.
Not forward recklessly.
Not backward in fear.
He had stood.
Joe pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady under his palm.
This is my resolve.
Not charging blindly into danger.
Not bowing his head and waiting to be crushed.
But moving forward—calmly, clearly, with eyes open.
"I'll face whatever comes," he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than he expected.
"Head-on… but with control."
Strength would come later.
Power would come later.
For now, this was enough.
Resolve wasn't about being fearless.
It was about choosing not to be ruled by fear.
A gentle breeze rolled in from the sea, brushing past him like a silent acknowledgment.
Joe stood up.
His legs were steady now.
Behind him, Greyshore slept.
Ahead of him lay a world that would test him again and again.
Joe didn't smile.
He didn't clench his fists.
He simply turned toward the horizon and walked back to the village—steps light, posture straight, heart calm.
Whatever awaited him—
Pirates.
Marines.
Names heavier than mountains.
He would face them.
Not recklessly.
Not foolishly.
But unwaveringly.
Somewhere far away, a man in a Marine coat sneezed violently for no reason at all.
"…Huh?"
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