For three more days, the quiet peace around Cocoyasi Village lingered—too calm, almost deceptive. Jin Akasa knew it couldn't last.
When the sea called, he always answered.
At sunset, the air along the coast shimmered in gold and salt. The Eternal, his ship, was anchored off the white sands beyond the orange groves. The air smelled of fruit, brine, and farewells.
Standing by the shore, Jin gazed at the horizon, the last rays of sunlight catching in his hair. The scars from the lightning had faded to faint lines across his shoulders and chest, but the memory of thunder still thrummed in his bones.
He wasn't the kind of man who lingered too long in comfort.
Behind him, a deep voice rumbled. "Boss, everything's ready."
The massive figure of Kuma—or "Bear," as Jin liked to call him—emerged from the treeline, carrying a crate like it weighed nothing. His fur-lined vest was dusty, his face smeared with mud, but the wild light in his eyes showed nothing but pride.
Jin turned slightly. "No trouble?"
"Nothing serious," Kuma grunted, scratching the back of his head. "Ran into some Marines on the way, though. They were sniffing around, probably for us. I used my beast-sense like you taught me. Killed every rotten one of them."
He said it so casually it sounded like small talk.
Jin exhaled. "You mean the ones I marked as corrupt?"
"Yeah," Kuma said, almost proudly. "All bad guys. The good ones I let run."
A faint smirk touched Jin's lips. "Then you did well. We've been here too long already. Time to move."
When they boarded the Eternal, the ship seemed almost alive. The sails caught the dusk wind, the black dragon figurehead glinting faintly red under the fading light.
Makino was already there, her apron tied over her usual green dress, hair swept back by the sea breeze. Her eyes softened as she saw Jin step onto the deck.
"Kuma's back," she said with a warm smile. "I see the family's whole again."
"Yeah," Kuma said, trying to hide his grin. "I missed you, Miss Makino. Look, I lost weight!"
Makino arched an eyebrow, smirking. "You've done the impossible, then—because to me, you look even stronger." She gave his arm a playful slap. "I'll cook your favorite stew tonight."
Kuma's face lit up. "You're the best, Makino!"
Hina leaned against the railing, arms folded, amused. "You big oaf, all it takes is food to make you happy."
"Food is love," Kuma declared solemnly.
Kuina rolled her eyes. "Love won't make you any better at training. Come on, Kuma, you owe me three sparring sessions."
"Now?" he groaned.
"Now."
He sighed but followed without protest.
Makino chuckled quietly as the two disappeared toward the training deck. Then she turned toward Hina, who was watching them with an unreadable expression.
"Something on your mind?"
Hina hesitated before answering. "He's leaving. I knew it was coming, but… it still feels fast."
Makino rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You know him. Jin was never meant to stay in one place. But he'll come back."
Hina's gaze flicked toward Jin, who stood at the bow, watching the sunset. "He always does things his way. Even the way he fights—it's like he's fighting the world itself."
Makino smiled wistfully. "And yet, that's exactly why we follow him."
As dusk deepened, the sky turned violet. A lantern flickered on the deck as Jin inspected the crates of supplies—tools, herbs, spare parts, maps. He worked methodically, though his eyes carried that distant, storm-touched calm that came after every battle.
Behind him, Hina approached, her coat fluttering softly.
"You've already made up your mind," she said.
"I made it the moment I woke up," Jin replied without turning. "We've healed enough. Staying here longer would just invite trouble."
She stepped closer, close enough to smell the faint metallic tang of his scars. "You think the Marines are still looking for you?"
He gave a small, humorless smile. "Let's just say I wouldn't bet against it."
Silence hung for a moment, filled by the sound of waves slapping against the hull. Then, softly, Hina said, "I'll miss this peace."
He finally turned, eyes meeting hers. "So will I."
There was a brief pause, and then something shifted—an unspoken current between them. The breeze lifted her hair, brushing it against his cheek. Her eyes, sharp and commanding as ever, softened.
When she leaned closer, Jin didn't move away.
Their lips met briefly, a moment of warmth amid the salt and wind. It wasn't fiery, nor desperate—just quiet, real, and human. When they parted, she rested her forehead against his chest.
"Don't die out there again," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "No promises."
She exhaled a shaky laugh, smacking his arm lightly before turning away. "Then you'd better make sure I'm there to scold you next time."
Later that evening, a small voice called from behind.
"Jin!"
He turned to see Nami, running toward him, her orange hair bouncing as she clutched a small satchel. Behind her, Belle-Mère and Nojiko stood watching from the edge of the grove.
Nami skidded to a stop, her big brown eyes shining with worry. "You're really leaving tomorrow?"
Jin crouched down, smiling gently. "You say that like I've never left before."
"But this time feels different," she pouted. "You promised to teach me more about navigation!"
He chuckled softly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "You're growing faster than you think, kiddo. But you're still too young to sail the Grand Line. Stay here. Learn. Become the best navigator there is."
Her lower lip trembled. "But—"
"Hey," he said softly, placing a small black Den Den Mushi in her hands. "Here. This is a private line to my ship. Whenever you need me, call. Doesn't matter where I am."
She blinked in awe, clutching it like treasure.
"When you've learned everything you can," he continued, "I'll come back for you. You'll be my Eternal's navigator. No one else could take that seat."
Nami's eyes widened, then she nodded fiercely. "You promise?"
"On my blade," Jin said solemnly.
She hesitated for a moment before throwing her arms around him. "Then don't forget!"
He froze for half a second, then returned the hug gently, his voice soft. "I won't."
When she pulled back, wiping at her eyes, Belle-Mère approached, her usual sternness tempered by affection.
"You've caused quite a storm since you came here," she said. "But I'll admit—things feel safer when you're around. The villagers might not say it, but they're grateful."
Jin smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Belle-Mère crossed her arms. "You better. And take care of yourself out there. The next time you visit, I want to see you walk in without half your body burned off."
"No promises," he teased.
She sighed, shaking her head. "Figures."
Nojiko stepped forward quietly. "Thank you… for keeping Nami safe."
Jin's expression softened. "That's a promise I'll always keep."
That night, as the moon rose high, Jin sat alone on the deck. The wind was gentle, carrying the scent of oranges and saltwater. The Eternal creaked softly beneath him, as though eager to move again.
The Black Dragon Fang rested across his knees, its surface glimmering faintly under the moonlight.
He traced his fingers along the blade's edge. "We've been through worse," he murmured. "The seas ahead are waiting. Let's not keep them bored."
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Talking to your sword again?"
Makino appeared, barefoot, her hair loose and glowing silver in the moonlight. She carried two cups of sake and handed him one before sitting beside him.
"I figured you'd be up here," she said.
He took the cup, smiling. "Couldn't sleep."
They sat in silence for a while, the waves whispering against the hull. Then Makino spoke, her tone quiet. "You always leave so suddenly. No long goodbyes. No hesitation."
"That's how I've survived this long," he said simply.
"I know," she whispered. Then, after a pause, "Just… come back alive, Jin."
He turned to her, meeting her eyes. There was so much in them—worry, warmth, something deeper she never said out loud. He didn't need her to.
"I will," he said.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. For a moment, there was no storm, no thunder—just stillness.
"Maybe," she murmured, "you could try staying a little longer next time."
He chuckled quietly. "You'd get tired of me in a week."
Makino smiled, closing her eyes. "Maybe. But I'd like the chance to find out."
The moonlight bathed them both in silver. The world was quiet, save for the waves and the slow, steady rhythm of their hearts.
And in that brief peace—between wars, storms, and the weight of destiny—Jin allowed himself to simply be.
Tomorrow, he would sail again.
But tonight… he stayed.
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T/N :
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