Nojiko's story continued, her voice a low, somber murmur that painted a vivid, agonizing picture in the minds of the Straw Hat Pirates. The world of the present faded, and they were transported back to the single, horrific day that had defined the last eight years of Nami's life.
Eight years ago. The smell of gunpowder and oranges hung heavy in the air. Bell-mère's body lay still on the ground in front of her home, a testament to a mother's unbreakable love.
Young Nami and Nojiko were frozen in a state of pure, world-shattering shock, their minds unable to process the brutal finality of what they had just witnessed. Arlong, the monster who had just executed their mother, stood over them, his shadow a suffocating blanket.
"A fine example," he had said, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Now, clean up this mess."
He ordered his men to ransack the small house, to take anything of value as a further 'tribute'. It was during this cruel, methodical pillaging that one of the Fish-Men, the octopus-man Hatchan, emerged from Nami's small room, a stack of papers in his six hands.
"Arlong-san, look at this!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a genuine, almost childish surprise. "This little human girl… she can draw maps!"
He spread them out on the ground. They were Nami's treasures, her dreams rendered in ink on paper. There was a perfect, hand-drawn map of the Conomi archipelago, complete with detailed notes on currents and coastlines. It was a work of cartographic genius, far beyond the capabilities of a ten-year-old child.
Arlong's cold, predatory eyes, which had been filled with a bored indifference, now glinted with a new, avaricious light. He looked from the brilliant maps to the small, orange-haired girl who was still weeping over her mother's body.
He saw not a grieving child, but a tool. A priceless, uniquely talented tool.
He strode over and grabbed Nami by the arm, his powerful, webbed hand easily lifting her from the ground. "You," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "You will come with me. You will draw maps for me."
It was not a request. It was a decree. She was kidnapped, torn away from her sister and the body of her mother, and dragged to the monstrous fortress of Arlong Park.
Back in Cocoyasi Village, a new fire had been lit in the ashes of their despair. The villagers, led by a grief-stricken but resolute Genzo, gathered in the square. Their fear had been burned away, replaced by a white-hot, righteous rage.
"They have taken our money. They have taken our peace. They have taken Bell-mère," Genzo declared, his voice a raw, powerful roar. "And now they have taken one of our children. We cannot stand for this. We will not stand for this!"
"WE WILL FIGHT!" the villagers roared back in unison.
They gathered their makeshift weapons—farming tools, fishing gaffs, old hunting rifles. It was a hopeless, suicidal plan, to march on a fortress of monsters. But they were united in their resolve. They would die on their feet rather than live on their knees. They would fight for Bell-mère's memory, and for Nami's future.
But just as the small, brave army was about to march, a lone figure appeared, walking back towards them from the direction of Arlong Park. It was Nami.
She was alone and, to their surprise, completely unharmed. A cold, unreadable expression was on her face.
"What are you all doing?" she asked, her voice devoid of the warmth they had always known.
"Nami! You're safe!" Genzo cried with relief. "We're coming to get you! We're going to fight them!"
"Fight them?" Nami let out a short, bitter laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. I've joined them."
The villagers stared, a stunned, disbelieving silence falling over them. Nami then reached into a pouch at her side and pulled out a thick wad of Beli, throwing it onto the ground.
"See? I can have all the money I ever wanted now," she said, her voice as cold as steel. "I'm one of them. A pirate."
The villagers' brave resolve shattered, replaced by a wave of disgust and betrayal.
"Traitor!" someone screamed.
"You'd side with your own mother's killer… for money?!"
"You are a disgrace to Bell-mère's memory! You are no longer a daughter of this village!"
They turned their backs on her, shunning her completely, leaving her to stand alone in the center of the village she had seemingly betrayed.
Later that night, Nojiko found her sister sitting alone at Bell-mère's grave on the cliff overlooking the sea. The cold, hard mask Nami had worn was gone, replaced by a quiet, profound grief. The moonlight illuminated the fresh, dark ink of a saw-shark tattoo on her shoulder, a brand of servitude.
"Why, Nami?" Nojiko whispered, her heart aching for her sister. "Why would you do this?"
Nami didn't look at her. She just stared out at the dark ocean, her voice a low, broken whisper.
"We can't win, Nojiko. I saw what they are. I saw what he did to Mom. If the village fights, they will all be slaughtered. Genzo, the others… everyone. It would be a meaningless, noble death, but it would still be death."
She finally turned to her sister, tears streaming silently down her face.
"He saw my maps. He needs a cartographer for his plan to rule the East Blue. He made me an offer. A deal."
She took a deep, shuddering breath, the words tasting like poison in her mouth.
"I will work for him. I will draw maps for him. And in exchange… he will sell me our village. For one hundred million Beli."
Nojiko stared, speechless. The sum was astronomical, impossible.
"It's the only way," Nami continued, her small hands clenched into tight fists. "I can't fight them with my fists. So I will fight them with my mind, my talent. I will endure it. I will become the cold-blooded witch they all think I am. I will steal, and lie, and chart the seas for that monster. And one day, I will have enough money. I will buy our freedom. I will buy our village back. That," she declared, her voice filled with the weight of a terrible, lonely vow, "is my fight."
Nojiko finished her story. Tears were streaming down her face now, too. In the small house, the Straw Hat pirates sat in a heavy, profound silence, the weight of the eight-year-old tragedy, of an eight-year-long solitary battle, crushing the air from the room.
Usopp was weeping openly. Sanji's cigarette had burned down to his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice, his face a mask of cold, quiet fury. Zoro's single eye was shadowed, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
Luffy sat perfectly still, his straw hat pulled down low, completely obscuring his face. The only sign of his emotion was the way his fists were clenched, so tightly that his knuckles were white as bone.
The story was over. The truth was out. And now, they understood everything.