No exploding islands. No angry sea kings. No Baroque Works assassins. Just blue skies, calm seas, and the sound of waves gently slapping the side of our stolen ship.
Emma stretched on the deck, arms behind her head. "Ahh, this is the life."
I squinted at her. "You said that right before the last storm hit."
"Yeah, but this time I mean it."
I leaned on the railing, letting the wind hit my face. For once, it actually felt… peaceful. "Maybe we're finally getting a break."
The sea immediately gurgled like it was laughing at me.
"...That didn't sound good," I muttered.
Emma rolled her eyes. "You're paranoid."
I pointed at the water. "The ocean hates me, Emma. I've nearly drowned twice this week."
Before she could answer, something splashed nearby. A shadow darted beneath the surface—fast.
"Oh no," I whispered. "Not again."
Emma grabbed her sword. "Sea King?"
"No," I said, peering closer. "Worse. Fish."
A giant tuna shot out of the water, slammed into me, and flopped on deck, thrashing wildly. I screamed, Emma screamed, the fish screamed—well, it made some kind of noise—and chaos followed.
"Grab it!" she shouted.
"I'M TRYING!" I yelled, wrestling with a creature that probably weighed more than I did.
After a minute of struggle, the fish stopped moving. Both of us froze, breathing hard.
Emma blinked. "Well… dinner?"
I looked at the fish, then back at her. "…You're cooking."
A few hours later
The smell of grilled fish filled the air. Emma hummed happily as she turned the meat over the stove.
I sat nearby, rubbing my bruised ribs. "You know, if I die, tell people it was the fish."
She smirked. "You're not dying. You're eating."
I sniffed the air. "It actually smells good."
"See? You doubt me too much."
"Last time you said that, you accidentally used gunpowder instead of salt."
"That was one time!"
We sat down and dug in. To my surprise, it was amazing—crispy, juicy, and not poisoned.
For a few minutes, it almost felt normal. Just two idiots sharing dinner under a quiet sky.
Then, of course, the peace didn't last.
BAM!
Something hit the ship. The deck shook violently.
Emma jumped to her feet. "What now?!"
I rushed to the railing—and froze.
A floating barrel had slammed into us. Stuck to it was a flag that read:
"Baroque Works Property. Do Not Touch."
I sighed. "...We're cursed, aren't we?"
Emma grinned. "Maybe. But cursed people make great pirates."
That night, as the stars reflected on the sea, I sat on the deck alone.
I thought about the journey so far—the chaos, the laughter, the near-deaths.
Somehow, it felt right.
"Guess I'm really part of this world now," I muttered.
From behind me, Emma called out, "Oi, Captain! Stop daydreaming and help clean up the fish guts!"
I sighed, smiling a little. "Yeah, yeah…"
Peace never lasted long for us. But maybe that's what made it fun.