"Wahahaha! That's great! You've got some seriously devoted supporters!"
We were at Shakky's bar—our usual haunt.
Rayleigh threw his head back laughing when I told him about Eddie and Morgans.
Honestly, the two of them have a level of composure that's hard to believe for ordinary citizens… or even respectable ones.
…Though I can't exactly call Morgans "respectable." He's perfectly happy to operate in legal gray zones, and sometimes he just breaks the law outright.
Still, thanks to that, we managed to slip out of a lot of tight spots this time, so I'm not complaining.
Eddie was taken care of, of course—and even Stella ended up with a new place to live and protection, all arranged by Morgans. Apparently it's an employee dorm for one of his affiliated companies, and I've heard it's surprisingly comfortable.
Stella's always been frugal, so I'm sure she has savings. She's resourceful and self-sufficient, too. As long as she has a roof over her head, steady work, and security, I don't need to worry about her for now.
"That said," Rayleigh went on, "it's rough, isn't it? Becoming a bounty target purely by accident… You don't need to be that paranoid, but life won't be the same as before."
"You're right." I let out a slow breath. "Since I can't change it now, I'm focusing on how fast I can adapt. Sigh… The World Government really does ruin people's lives like it's nothing."
"Exactly," Shakky said, exhaling smoke with a thin smile. "They turn a blind eye to obvious evils, but then they get overly sensitive—almost fanatical—about certain things. To the underworld, it's practically an advertisement for what they're hiding."
"And this kind of purge… is part of that too," I muttered. "It's hell for the people who get caught in the middle."
Seriously.
Before this, I didn't think much about the Government.
I knew they looked away while the Celestial Dragons trampled people, and I knew they made backroom deals, so I figured they were scum… but I never really thought about what it would mean to be in their sights.
I just accepted the world as it was, accepted that the organization existed, and left it at that.
Even when I was forced into becoming a Celestial Dragon's "wife," since Saint Banosakka was the one who did it to me, I didn't blame the Government itself.
But this…
Watching how easily—how casually—they can destroy someone's life without hesitation… it's hard not to hate them. It's infuriating.
That doesn't mean I'm going to bare my fangs right now and become the kind of monster they want me to be. I'm not about to turn into some ruthless pirate who burns towns and commits every atrocity under the sun.
I won't go that far.
But it's not funny, either. If the chance comes, I'll absolutely repay them in some form—revenge, harassment, whatever you want to call it.
An eye for an eye. Pay them back twice as hard.
I'm the woman who made that saying popular on this sea.
"So," I said, leaning forward a little, "I wanted to ask you two—former pirate veterans. The Grand Line is crawling with pirates, right? And they don't even seem to hide. Is it really not that dangerous?"
I needed this to plan my next move.
Shakky thought for a moment behind the counter. "Well…"
"It depends on the island. Some places won't blink if you're a pirate. Others will panic. But if I had to sum it up? I don't think you need to be that nervous."
"What do you mean?"
"Most people don't care as long as you don't cause trouble," she said lightly. "Even if the person drinking at a tavern is a wanted pirate, if they're not picking fights—and better yet, they're paying properly—then they're just another customer. Plenty of places would rather treat them like a normal merchant than report them."
Shakky said that with a smile, despite the fact she routinely overcharged "customers" and sent more than a few stumbling out bruised and furious.
I knew her standards were… unique. I didn't take the advice too literally.
"If you don't advertise it, most people won't even realize you're pirates."
Rayleigh nodded, as if reminiscing. "Back in the day, if you brazenly sailed a pirate ship straight into a busy port, you'd cause an uproar. But if you anchor in a quiet cove and enter town alone… you can blend in more easily than you'd think. Of course, that depends on your reputation."
"I see…"
Well, I don't plan on flying a pirate flag anyway… so that shouldn't matter, right?
And being a bounty target doesn't automatically make you a pirate. In this world they're treated almost the same, but still. There are gangs, mountain bandits, all sorts of exceptions.
If I change my hairstyle, wear a deep hat, and throw on glasses, I might be able to pass as someone else.
I should also wear clothes that don't show my figure—nothing form-fitting. Make it harder to guess my build.
Ideally, I'd rather not mess with my hair color. I actually like it.
"Now, if there's a Marine base nearby—or even in the town itself—that changes things," Shakky added. "On the other hand, some places won't flinch even if they know you're a pirate."
"Those places are usually outlaw dens," Rayleigh said, "or towns with private militias strong enough to handle pirate rampages. Dangerous in their own way."
So there are all kinds, huh. Maybe it's because each island evolves on its own—shaped, hardened, or wiped out through constant contact with pirates.
Overall… maybe I don't need to panic?
"That's about right," Shakky said. "If you get exposed in a peaceful town, they'll report you. Or even if they don't, they'll look at you like you're a monster. That's just the fate of someone with a bounty. Worrying won't help."
Shakky and Rayleigh said it like something long settled.
But for someone like me—someone who never chose this—can I really just not care?
Ugh…
Up until now, it had been the opposite. I beat pirates, citizens thanked me, kids smiled at me. That warm, satisfying feeling—
Now the reverse might be waiting.
They'll realize I'm a criminal and start screaming, "Stay away, you vile fiend!"
Or worse… a father, desperate to protect his family, planting himself between me and the people he loves.
A child peeking from behind a parent's legs, eyes full of fear and accusation, as if pleading: Please don't do anything terrible.
My chest tightened.
I've done nothing wrong… and it still hurts.
"You've got that look again," Eddie said.
"Mm," Shakky smiled. "She's got a whole scene playing out in her head."
Oops. There goes that habit.
"Sigh." I shook my head. "I'm planning to travel around and find somewhere I can settle down. While I'm at it… do you think the Sabaody Archipelago would be a good place to make a base?"
"Hm." Shakky's expression turned faintly serious. "It's not like anyone cares about bounty targets wandering around there… but I wouldn't recommend it. It's dangerous."
Yeah. She's right.
Slave traders roam openly. Slaves are sold in the Human Auctioning House. Celestial Dragons show up whenever they feel like it.
Come to think of it, I was once spotted out of nowhere and nearly made someone's "wife," wasn't I?
Depending on which grove you're in, crime runs rampant, and the sense of security is… shaky at best.
There's a Marine base, too. The chance of getting caught and causing a scene isn't zero.
Normally, they don't bother with every little thing—and they even turn a blind eye to slave trading, which is its own kind of disgusting—
But I've also heard that every few years, some hotheaded pirate attacks a Celestial Dragon and triggers the arrival of a Marine Admiral.
And when that happens, it's not just the pirate who started it. Any other pirates or bounty targets nearby get swept up in the dragnet too.
Terrifying.
Shakky and Rayleigh can live here because they're strong enough to.
For me, for now… I'll just wander until I find somewhere I can breathe.
Sigh…
---
As I sat in Shakky's bar, sighing and turning my future over in my head, a similar sigh echoed far away.
"…Haa…"
The man was Zephyr—known across the seas as Black Arm Zephyr. A former Marine Admiral, now Chief Instructor at Marine Headquarters, a celebrated hero renowned for both strength and competence.
In his hand was a wanted poster featuring a young woman.
He had seen that face recently—not as a bounty target, but as a kindhearted ally who protected civilians.
"I can't tell you not to worry, Zephyr," Tsuru said quietly. "But don't blame yourself so harshly. There was nothing you could have done. It was… bad luck."
"I know." Zephyr's voice was rough. "It was bad luck. But it shows how easily a good citizen can be smeared in this world. That's what troubles me."
Vice Admiral Tsuru—Zephyr's classmate from the academy, a strategist revered as the Great Advisor—sat beside him, offering what comfort she could. She understood his despondency. He had told her everything.
It began with the pirate attack during a Marine training expedition on a certain island.
The attack itself ended quickly and with relatively few casualties, due in no small part to a young bounty hunter who had volunteered to fight alongside the Marines.
But unrelated to the pirates, a clandestine transaction tied to the Government's shadows had been happening on the island at the same time.
An undercover operation by Cipher Pol.
Unfortunately, the town's citizens—and the young woman who got caught in the middle—became collateral.
Cipher Pol killed every innocent inside the building to erase witnesses, then tried to kill the young woman as well.
In the chaos, she fought back. Zephyr managed to rescue the only surviving citizen: a small child.
And the young woman herself escaped.
But the incident put her on the Government's radar. She was framed, branded a bounty target, and hunted.
"Every time something like this happens," Zephyr murmured, "my sense of justice wavers. Is it really right to fight for the Government? Aren't we protecting some while hurting others… leaving casualties in our wake?"
Tsuru's gaze softened, though her voice stayed steady. "It's all the same, isn't it? To survive, you compromise somewhere. Even when you know you're rationalizing. That's how organizations work. We can be called heroes, advisors—whatever grand title people like—but we're still just human. One heart each. We have limits."
Zephyr set the wanted poster on his desk and pulled out another sheet of paper—a letter.
The sender was the young woman herself.
It had arrived the day after the incident—just before she was officially declared a fugitive.
How it had been delivered was unclear. It hadn't come through normal channels; his subordinates—his students—had simply found it waiting.
As a precaution, it had been inspected thoroughly before reaching him. Finding nothing suspicious, they passed it on.
Zephyr had read it countless times.
It was her feelings. The words she hadn't been able to say on the island.
Meticulously phrased—careful, restrained, as if written with the assumption that someone else might read it.
A thank-you.
A quiet confession.
And a plea.
You probably don't remember, but when I was a child, you saved me from a pirate's blade—back when you were still an Admiral. If you'd been a second later, I would have died.
Because you saved my life, I am who I am today. I'm glad I could repay even a fraction of that debt by assisting your students.
Though I didn't choose the path of a Marine, I respect you deeply—for saving so many civilians with your own hands, and for raising so many Marines who go on to protect the world.
I believe I've stumbled onto a dark secret of the Government.
They may kill me to silence me… or, if I survive, I may never be able to return to normal society.
Please, at least protect the child I entrusted to you. Her parents were murdered, but she must be innocent—just a child who happened to be there.
And finally, I ask you to keep believing in your sense of justice. Keep protecting the innocent.
As one of the citizens you once saved, I wish you health—and the best of luck.
Zephyr reread the note again, then folded it carefully, slid it back into its envelope, and locked it away in a drawer.
Ah. That girl from all those years ago… Look how she's grown.
Sue had written, You probably don't remember me.
But Zephyr did.
Fifteen years ago, returning from an expedition, he received a distress signal and rushed to an island under pirate attack.
He remembered it exactly as her letter described: a small white-haired girl, a pirate's sword coming down—
He had knocked the pirate flying at the last moment, then handed the dazed child—so small she likely didn't even understand she'd been a heartbeat from death—to his subordinates, shaking his head in exasperation.
The memory stayed vivid.
And there was another reason it stayed vivid—one Sue couldn't possibly know. A reason that made that day impossible to forget.
During that same expedition, Zephyr's family—his wife and daughter—had been murdered by pirates, killed out of hatred for him.
At the time, Zephyr blamed himself. He convinced himself his family had died because he had made enemies. He tormented himself with the thought that if he hadn't been away, he could have protected them.
His faith in his own justice cracked.
And then, in that darkness, he remembered the little girl he had saved.
If I hadn't been there, she would have died.
He had protected a life. He had done something that mattered.
Of course, he never told himself that failing to protect his own family was acceptable. He refused to weigh their lives against anyone else's. He couldn't. He wouldn't.
But his hands had saved someone.
Each time he remembered that girl's face, he could feel the weight of it—something precious he had protected.
And little by little, he had managed to climb out of that grief.
Yet this time…
He hadn't been able to protect her.
He had suspected, as she did, that even if she survived, the Government would brand her a criminal.
And that was exactly what happened.
And still—her letter held no resentment. Only gratitude. Only encouragement.
If I wallow in self-pity now, I'll never be able to face her… or my family.
She hadn't written the letter to push him into action.
But for Zephyr, it became something else anyway.
A pillar.
A reminder.
A reason to stand.
If remaining a Marine—upholding the justice I believe in—can protect what truly matters… then I will continue to be Black Arm Zephyr.
"…I understand," Zephyr said quietly. "I won't stop moving forward."
Tsuru blinked. "Did you say something, Zephyr?"
"No. Nothing."
But if the Marines—or the Government—disappoint me again… If I can no longer find meaning in their so-called justice…
Then…
If it ended there, it would have been simple: an old Marine reaffirming his resolve through the words of someone he once saved.
However—
"Really?" Tsuru's tone turned lightly scolding. "You get heated too easily, just like Garp. You bottle things up, push yourself too hard. Don't overdo it."
"Come on, Tsuru. I'm not a kid." Zephyr gave a wry laugh. "And don't lump me in with Garp."
Even Tsuru seemed to regret the comparison, a faintly exasperated smile tugging at her lips.
"You sure? Didn't you do the same thing during this incident?"
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"One of your new recruits told me," Tsuru said. "Apparently, Zephyr-sensei got so worked up while worrying about the island defense that he nearly struck Sue—the one helping you. You almost attacked her."
"…!"
Zephyr didn't change expression—but the memory surfaced like a knife.
The moment he nearly hit her.
The moment he mistook her for an enemy.
Back then… it was true. He had lost his cool.
Whether it was strategy or coincidence, the pirates had harmed his students while he was away, and rage had flared hot in his chest.
Even so…
From a distance where he could barely make out her features—where he couldn't even tell if she was a man or a woman—Zephyr had launched at Sue with open hostility, killing intent stripped bare.
And the most bewildered person in the world by that fact… was Zephyr himself.
At that moment, I instinctively felt I had to defeat her—without clearly seeing her face, without even knowing who she was. Why?
It was bizarre. It felt like the intuition he'd honed as a Marine had seized him by the throat.
But when he reached her, all he found was a terrified young woman, shrinking beneath the pressure of his intent.
He regretted it—deeply. She hadn't been an enemy. She had been helping.
Yet the mystery remained, gnawing at him.
Why did I mistake her for an enemy, when I couldn't even see her clearly?
The chaos afterward, the letter, the wanted poster—everything had piled guilt on top of guilt.
And still, the question wouldn't go away.
All he could recall was a distant silhouette.
Against the pirates, she had moved with impossible agility—almost flying—wielding a blade in one hand and an umbrella in the other.
That sight had stirred something in him. Something old. Something deep.
What did I really see in her that day?
To be continued...