Whoosh... whoosh... whoosh...
The waves whispered ceaselessly beneath the ship's hull, rhythmic and persistent.
Someone once said the sea could be peaceful, even enchanting. But anyone who's truly lived upon her knows: the Grand Line is never quiet. Even under the cover of night, the waters speak in turbulence and unseen threats. Sailors who grow accustomed to that constant noise learn a dangerous truth — silence at sea often means something is very, very wrong.
On the upper deck of the Going Merry, a lone figure stood under the moonlight, one hand resting gently on the sheephead prow.
"Wind stable. Course aligned. Air pressure normal…" Shirogai Yamikuro murmured to himself, eyeing the Log Pose on his wrist.
He adjusted the dial, nodded slightly, then patted the figurehead like an old friend. "Rest easy, Merry. I'll keep watch tonight."
A low cry echoed across the ocean — the long, deep moan of a distant sea beast. Whether it was calling a mate or challenging a rival, Yamikuro couldn't tell. The sound drifted and vanished into the vast blue-black canvas.
Down below, the rest of the crew slept. At night, Nami always reduced the Merry's speed slightly — a precaution. Sailing too fast in the dark made it harder to react to sudden dangers. Excellent navigators understood: haste invites mistakes. In the Grand Line, rushing through unfamiliar waters was how you ended up wrecked — or worse.
Shirogai hummed softly as he made his way to the orange grove near the stern. He lifted a ceramic mug, blew gently on the steam rising from his tea, and sipped. The night breeze danced through his white cloak, but he didn't shiver. He liked the stillness, the quiet, the clarity it brought.
It was his turn to stand watch. Not that he needed much rest anyway. His mind remained sharp even through long hours. Years of training — and something else — kept him alert. Some part of him had always been different. More… attuned.
"The sugar's off," he muttered, smacking his lips. "Too bland."
He returned to the kitchen and stirred in three sugar cubes, letting the sweetness dissolve before sipping again. "Perfect."
He could have kept watch from his cabin, using his refined Observation Haki to sense danger long before it arrived. His precognition had evolved naturally over time — it now allowed him to sense subtle shifts in air currents, feel distant footfalls, and even glimpse seconds ahead into the future. But Shirogai didn't like depending on it too much. Precognition was never absolute — and the sea had a way of humbling even the most confident warrior.
More than that, he had grown to care deeply for the crew.
Ever since Alabasta, something had shifted in him.
It had been three days since they'd departed the desert kingdom — and the chaos that unfolded there. In that time, they'd stopped at two minor islands, gathering fresh water and, in one case, stumbling into a grove of wild pineapples fiercely guarded by a tribe of stick-wielding macaques.
They'd fought. Laughed. Usopp got beaten into a pulp. But they'd returned to the Merry triumphant — with baskets of fruit and sticky stories to tell. Sanji and Shirogai had brewed pineapple beer from the haul; it became a quick favorite among the crew. Nami and Robin especially liked the fizzy sweetness, while Chopper took to the pineapple jam like a kid with candy.
Robin had grown quieter since Alabasta. More observant. But the wall between her and the rest of the crew was beginning to crumble. Shared meals and shared stories had a way of doing that.
Still, some mystery clung to her.
Not that Shirogai was one to talk. His own origins were cloaked in just as much fog.
Only Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper ever asked him directly about where he came from. And the answers they got — tales of flying machines and floating cities — only made their jaws drop.
"Rockets into space?" Usopp gaped.
"You mean... outside the planet?" Chopper blinked.
"Whoa! That's amazing!" Luffy shouted, already imagining gum-gum punches in zero gravity.
Shirogai chuckled, reclining in a lounge chair near the grove, his mug in hand.
"As you sow, so shall you reap," he murmured, gazing at the orchard. "Devil Fruits are just another kind of crop, I guess."
He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift, reviewing the combat experiences he'd gathered recently — particularly those from Alabasta.
That journey had borne more fruit than any of them realized.
He'd encountered, analyzed, and — through relentless observation — begun to understand the properties of several Devil Fruit abilities. An intensely trained mind and a memory like a vice.
He recalled the Sand-Sand Fruit's fluid transformation. The explosive potential of the Bomb-Bomb Fruit. The bizarre mimicry of the Imitation Fruit. There were 24 in total — abilities he had dissected and committed to memory through observation and combat exposure.
He took another sip of tea, smiling faintly.
" him — and reward him with new discoveries.
"Which Admiral's power will I run into first?" he mused aloud. "Light, magma, or ice? Hmm…"
Most pirates would tremble at the idea of clashing with the Navy's top brass.
Shirogai? He was looking forward to it.
The stronger the opponent, the stronger he became.
He set his mug down and stood, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the horizon.
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