Day 76 | Location: Departing Loguetown, East Blue
Dawn finds me at the docks, a small pack slung over my shoulder containing essentials for the journey. Taki waits beside a robust merchant vessel named Crimson Dawn---considerably larger than the Minnow, with two masts and a crew of about fifteen moving purposefully across her deck.
"Captain Barrett!" Taki calls up to a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard. "Got that passenger I mentioned!"
Barrett leans over the rail, studying me with experienced eyes. "This the sailing prodigy you were yammering about? Looks a bit green to me!"
Taki laughs. "Green, maybe, but learns faster than anyone I've taught. Worth the cabin space, I promise."
Barrett gestures for me to come aboard. As I climb the gangplank, he meets me at the top, extending a calloused hand.
"Captain Jorick Barrett," he introduces himself. "Taki says you're interested in shipbuilding timber?"
"Kai D. Zarathius," I reply, shaking his hand firmly. "And yes, I'm hoping to commission a vessel eventually. Thought I should learn about quality materials firsthand."
Barrett nods approvingly. "Smart approach. Too many fools buy whatever floating deathtraps the cheapest yards put together, then act surprised when they sink at the first real storm. Hoko Island timber costs more, but it'll save your life when the weather turns."
He instructs a crew member to show me to my quarters---a small but clean cabin near the stern. Once I've deposited my belongings, I return to deck to find Taki preparing to disembark.
"Remember what I taught you," he says, gripping my shoulder. "Respect the sea, trust your instincts, and always---always---check your gear twice."
"I will," I promise. "And thank you, for everything."
Taki waves away my gratitude. "Just don't get yourself killed. Would make me look bad as a teacher."
With that gruff farewell, he descends to the dock. Within thirty minutes, the Crimson Dawn's sails catch the morning breeze, and we're gliding out of Loguetown harbor.
Captain Barrett proves to be a wealth of information about East Blue shipping routes and the economics of trade between islands. As we sail northeast toward Hoko Island, he explains the precautions merchants take against pirate attacks and the importance of maintaining good relations with Marine outposts.
"Pirates are getting bolder by the month," he tells me as we stand at the rail, watching the coastline recede. "Ever since Roger's execution, every idiot with a boat thinks they can find the One Piece and become Pirate King."
I nod, trying not to betray how strange it feels to discuss these events as current affairs rather than fictional background.
"You think the One Piece is real?" I ask, curious about his perspective.
Barrett squints at the horizon. "Roger wasn't a liar. But whether it's gold, power, or something else entirely---that's the question. Whatever it is, it wasn't worth the chaos his last words unleashed."
The journey progresses smoothly through the afternoon. I make myself useful to the crew, applying what Taki taught me and learning the differences between handling a small fishing boat and a proper merchant vessel. By evening, I've earned enough respect from the sailors to be invited to join their card games after dinner.
As we play a local variant of poker, using shells as betting tokens, I carefully extract information about the current state of the East Blue---which towns are prospering, which islands to avoid, where Marine presence is heaviest.
"You planning to travel extensively?" asks a weathered sailor named Gibbs, eyeing me curiously.
"That's the idea," I reply, arranging my cards. "I want to see what's out there before settling anywhere."
"Smart to stick to the East Blue for now," another sailor comments. "Safest of all the seas, though that ain't saying much these days."
The conversation drifts to notorious pirates currently active in these waters. I listen attentively, noting that none of the names match characters I remember from the series. These are the background players, the faces that never made it into the story I knew---yet here they are, real people with real impacts on this world.
Night falls, and I retire to my cabin, feeling the gentle rocking of the ship as it navigates through starlit waters. Through my small porthole window, I watch the unfamiliar constellations of this world and contemplate how quickly my life has changed.
Just six days ago, I was orbiting this planet in the Star Raven, uncertain what I would find below. Now I'm sailing toward an island I've never heard of, in a world that once existed only in my imagination, with a storage ring prototype on my finger and a borrowed brass compass in my pocket.
I fall asleep to the creaking of timbers and distant sailors' songs, dreaming of islands yet to be discovered.
Day 77 | Location: East Blue, Aboard the Crimson Dawn
The second day of our voyage brings perfect sailing conditions---clear skies, steady winds, and relatively calm seas. Captain Barrett allows me to take shifts at the helm under supervision, giving me practical experience steering a vessel significantly larger than Taki's Minnow.
"You've got good hands," the helmsman, a quiet man named Joro, comments after watching me maintain course for two hours. "Most newcomers overcorrect, fighting the ship instead of working with her."
I thank him for the compliment, secretly attributing my success more to enhanced reflexes than natural talent. Still, there's something deeply satisfying about feeling the ship respond to subtle adjustments of the wheel.
Midway through the morning, the lookout calls down from the crow's nest.
"Sail on the horizon! Southeast bearing!"
Captain Barrett emerges from his cabin immediately, spyglass in hand. He studies the distant vessel for a long moment, expression growing increasingly grim.
"Get the cargo secured," he orders. "And break out the arms chest."
A ripple of tension passes through the crew. When I approach Barrett, he hands me the spyglass without comment.
Through the lens, I can make out a ship flying a black flag with a skull design I don't recognize---pirates, obviously, but not a crew famous enough to have appeared in the series I remember.
"Think they'll attack?" I ask, returning the spyglass.
"They're altering course to intercept," Barrett replies grimly. "Crimson Dawn is known for valuable cargo. And they're flying Sawteeth Pete's colors---he's not known for mercy."
I recall the name from the wanted posters I'd studied in Loguetown. Sawteeth Pete---bounty of 9,000,000 berries, known for raids on merchant vessels throughout the East Blue.
"Can we outrun them?" I ask, automatically calculating angles and wind directions.
Barrett shakes his head. "Their ship is lighter, built for speed. We're carrying timber samples from our last port. Makes us slower."
He begins barking orders, organizing the crew for potential combat. Men bring up wooden crates containing pistols, cutlasses, and what appear to be primitive grenades. Others secure hatches and prepare to defend the vessel.
"Mr. Zarathius," Barrett addresses me formally, "as a passenger, you're welcome to stay below. No one would think less of you."
I meet his gaze steadily. "I'd prefer to help if I can."
He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Take a weapon from the arms chest. Stay near the mainmast unless ordered elsewhere."
The tension mounts as the pirate vessel grows larger on the horizon. It's a sleek craft with dark sails, clearly designed for pursuit and raiding. Through Barrett's spyglass, I can now make out figures moving on its deck---at least twenty pirates preparing for attack.
Red Queen's voice comes through my earpiece, pitched low so only I can hear. "Captain, thermal signatures suggest approximately twenty-four hostiles approaching on the pirate vessel. No energetic weapons detected, but several larger heat signatures might indicate cannons."
"Understood," I murmur, pretending to adjust my collar. "Stay on standby."
I select a simple cutlass from the arms chest, testing its balance. The weapon is crude compared to Devilukean blades, but serviceable. I also pocket two of the small grenades, curious about their composition.
As the pirate ship closes to within a few hundred meters, Barrett makes a final attempt to avoid conflict.
"Full sail!" he commands. "Hard to starboard!"
The Crimson Dawn lurches as the crew scrambles to execute the order, attempting to catch a crosswind that might give us an advantage. For a brief moment, it seems we might gain some distance.
Then the first cannonball splashes into the water just meters from our hull.
"They're within range!" the lookout shouts, unnecessarily.
Barrett's face hardens. "Prepare to repel boarders! Gunners to positions!"
The Crimson Dawn carries four small cannons, primarily intended as deterrents rather than offensive weapons. They begin returning fire, though with limited effect against the more maneuverable pirate vessel.
Within minutes, the gap between ships has closed dramatically. I can hear the pirates' shouts now, see the flash of weapons in the morning sun. Grappling hooks sail through the air, biting into the Crimson Dawn's railings.
"Cut those lines!" Barrett roars, firing a pistol at a pirate attempting to swing aboard.
And then they're upon us---a wave of rough-looking men wielding cutlasses, axes, and pistols. The deck erupts in chaos as the crew of the merchant vessel engages the boarders.
I find myself facing a burly pirate with a jagged scar across his face. He grins, revealing---appropriately---sawlike teeth filed to points.
"Look at the pretty boy!" he jeers, swinging a heavy cutlass at my head. "Give up now and maybe the captain will keep you alive as cabin boy!"
I deflect his strike easily, my enhanced reflexes making his movements seem almost sluggish. Rather than counterattack immediately, I assess the situation, looking for the most efficient way to resolve this conflict without revealing my true capabilities.
The pirate, surprised by my successful parry, attacks again with greater ferocity. This time, I sidestep and deliver a precise strike to his wrist with the flat of my blade. He howls in pain, dropping his weapon.
Before he can recover, I follow with a controlled kick to his midsection that sends him tumbling back toward the railing. He crashes into it hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs but not enough to cause serious injury.
Around me, the battle rages with increasing intensity. The Crimson Dawn's crew fights bravely, but they're merchants, not warriors. Several already lie wounded, and the pirates press their advantage with savage glee.
A glimpse of gold catches my eye---a tall figure standing on the pirate ship's deck, watching the battle unfold. Unlike his crew, he doesn't engage directly. Something about his posture suggests confidence, arrogance even.
Sawteeth Pete himself, I realize. The captain orchestrating this attack.
As I move to help a fallen crewman, a new voice cuts through the chaos---high, feminine, and furious.
"You picked the wrong ship, you toothy bastards!"
I turn to see a young woman emerge from below decks, wielding what appears to be a collapsible staff. Her most striking feature is her bright orange hair, tied back in a practical ponytail.
My heart nearly stops.
Nami.
She couldn't be anyone else---the distinctive hair color, the fierce expression, the weapon style. But she's younger than when she first appeared in the series, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. And what is she doing on a random merchant vessel a year before she's supposed to meet Luffy?
I don't have time to process this development fully. Three pirates converge on her position, clearly seeing her as an easy target. Their mistake.
With breathtaking efficiency, Nami extends her staff and sweeps the legs out from under the first attacker. She follows with a precise strike to the temple of the second, dropping him instantly. The third manages to swing his cutlass, but she parries with the center of her staff before driving one end into his solar plexus.
All three pirates down in seconds. Definitely Nami.
Our eyes meet briefly across the chaotic deck. Her expression shows surprise---perhaps at seeing someone her age among the merchant crew, or perhaps at my lack of visible fear.
The moment breaks as Captain Barrett bellows orders, rallying his men. I turn to find myself facing two more pirates, these armed with matched daggers and moving with more skill than the first.
Time to stop holding back quite so much.
I flow into action, drawing on combat forms perfected over weeks of training aboard the Star Raven. My movements become a blur as I disarm the first pirate with a flick of my wrist, then use his momentum to send him crashing into his companion. Both go down in a tangle of limbs and curses.
The tide of battle shifts gradually. Between Nami's surprising combat prowess, Barrett's leadership, and my own carefully measured assistance, the pirates begin to lose their advantage. Several break off to return to their ship, dragging wounded comrades.
Then a booming laugh cuts through the noise. Standing at the railing of his ship, Sawteeth Pete finally enters the fray. He's a massive man with a golden captain's coat and, yes, teeth filed to points like a shark's.
"Seems my boys need a demonstration!" he roars, drawing twin cutlasses from his back. With surprising agility for his size, he leaps the gap between vessels, landing heavily on the Crimson Dawn's deck.
Two merchant sailors move to intercept him. Pete dispatches both with casual brutality, not killing them but leaving them groaning on the deck.
"Who's next?" he bellows, eyes scanning the remaining defenders. His gaze settles on me. "The pretty boy with the fancy moves, perhaps?"
Captain Barrett steps forward, his own cutlass raised. "This is my ship, Pete. Your quarrel is with me."
But Pete ignores him, advancing toward me with predatory intent. "I've been watching you, boy. You fight too well for a merchant's helper. Who are you really?"
I raise my blade in a defensive position. "Just a passenger," I reply calmly. "Who doesn't appreciate having his journey interrupted."
Pete's laugh booms across the deck. "Spirit! I like that. I'll give you a choice---join my crew or feed the fishes."
From the corner of my eye, I see Nami edging around the fighting, moving with purpose toward the pirate vessel. Whatever she's planning, I need to keep attention focused here.
"I have a counter-offer," I say, stepping forward confidently. "Take your men and leave while you still can."
This provokes exactly the reaction I expect---fury. Pete charges with both cutlasses whirling in a deadly pattern. For someone of his bulk, he moves with surprising speed and skill.
But not fast enough.
I parry his first strikes with precision, allowing him to believe he's testing my defenses. In truth, I'm evaluating his fighting style, looking for the most efficient way to end this without revealing too much of my capabilities.
"You've had training," Pete growls, pressing his attack. "Marine deserter? Or another pirate playing incognito?"
I don't answer, conserving breath as I maintain a defensive posture. Around us, the remaining pirates and merchant sailors have paused their own conflicts to watch this duel---exactly as I intended.
Pete grows increasingly frustrated as his attacks fail to find purchase. His technique deteriorates, becoming more aggressive but less controlled. When he overextends on a particularly vicious slash, I make my move.
A quick sidestep, a precise strike to his leading wrist, followed by a sweep of his forward leg. Pete crashes to the deck with a thunderous impact, one cutlass skittering away across the planks.
Before he can recover, I level my blade at his throat.
"Like I said," I repeat calmly, "take your men and leave."
For a tense moment, fury contorts Pete's features. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs---a genuine sound of amusement.
"Well played, boy," he concedes. "You've got skill, I'll give you that."
I maintain my position, blade steady. "Your decision?"
Pete gestures, and his remaining men begin to withdraw. As they retreat to their vessel, I notice something odd---several are frantically searching the pirate ship, as if looking for something important.
Nami. Whatever she was doing over there, she's succeeded.
Once the pirates have withdrawn to their ship, Pete rises slowly, rubbing his wrist. "We'll meet again, boy," he promises, though there's more curiosity than threat in his tone. "What's your name? For my records."
I consider for a moment whether to answer truthfully. In this world of bounties and reputations, names have power.
"Kai," I reply simply. "Kai D. Zarathius."
Pete's eyes widen slightly at the middle initial, but he says nothing more before turning to rejoin his crew. Within minutes, the pirate vessel is pulling away, sails filling as they beat a strategic retreat.
As the immediate danger passes, the crew of the Crimson Dawn erupts in cheers. Captain Barrett approaches me, a mixture of gratitude and suspicion in his eyes.
"That was impressive swordsmanship, Mr. Zarathius," he says quietly. "More than I'd expect from someone just learning to sail."
I shrug, already preparing my cover story. "I never claimed sailing was my only skill. Where I'm from, knowing how to defend yourself is essential."
He seems about to press further when a commotion near the stern interrupts us. I turn to see Nami being confronted by several crewmen.
"She was stowing away in the cargo hold!" one accuses.
"And she just saved half the crew," I counter, moving to her side. Now that I can see her clearly, I notice differences from the character I remember---she's thinner, with shadows under her eyes suggesting exhaustion or stress. The tattoo on her shoulder isn't the pinwheel design she'll eventually have but rather a symbol I recognize with a jolt: Arlong's mark.
Of course. At this point in the timeline, she's still working for the fishman pirate, collecting treasure to buy her village's freedom.
Captain Barrett silences the accusations with a raised hand. "Who are you, girl, and what were you doing on my ship?"
Nami straightens, affecting a confident pose despite her obvious exhaustion. "Just a traveler looking for passage to the next island. I didn't have money for fare, so..." she shrugs unapologetically.
"So you stowed away," Barrett finishes, his expression stern. "And then fought like a demon when the pirates attacked."
"Better than dying," she replies simply.
Barrett studies her for a long moment, then sighs. "Given the circumstances, I'll overlook the stowing away. But you'll work for your passage from here on out. Gally needs help in the galley, and we've wounded that need tending."
Nami nods, seemingly relieved at this outcome. As the crew disperses to repair damage and tend to the injured, she turns to me with calculating eyes.
"That was some fighting," she comments, studying me. "You don't look like a mercenary."
"I'm not," I reply simply. "Just a traveler with some skills."
"Kai D. Zarathius," she says, having obviously overheard my exchange with Pete. "The D is interesting."
I shrug, offering a slight smile. "It's just a name."
"No such thing as 'just a name' in these waters," she counters. "I'm Nami, by the way. Navigator extraordinaire and... occasional stowaway."
She doesn't offer a hand to shake, maintaining a careful distance. I respect her caution.
"Headed anywhere specific, Nami?" I ask, curious about her presence here when by rights she should be working for Arlong or thieving from pirates elsewhere.
Something flickers behind her eyes---calculation, suspicion, or perhaps simple wariness. "Wherever the next treasure is," she answers with forced lightness. "You know how it is."
I do know, far better than she can imagine. I know exactly why she's collecting treasure, what nightmare drives her, and how her story eventually unfolds. The temptation to hint at this knowledge is strong, but I resist.
"Well," I say instead, "looks like we're shipmates for now. At least until we reach Hoko Island."
"Hoko?" Her interest visibly sharpens. "The timber island?"
I nod. "I'm researching shipbuilding materials."
"Planning to commission a vessel?" When I confirm this, she smiles for the first time---a calculating expression that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You know, I happen to be an expert on ship quality. For a modest fee, I could offer professional consultation services."
Despite everything, I find myself smiling genuinely. Even now, before meeting Luffy and finding her true path, Nami's entrepreneurial spirit remains intact.
"I'll keep that in mind," I promise, turning to help with the wounded as Captain Barrett calls for all hands.
As I work alongside the crew, binding injuries and helping secure damaged areas of the ship, I can't help but marvel at this unexpected turn of events. Of all the people I might have encountered in this vast world, Nami appearing now seems like more than coincidence.
Was it random chance? Or is there some deeper pattern at work, some narrative gravity pulling together the elements of a story I once knew?
Whatever the answer, one thing is certain---my journey just became considerably more complicated. And infinitely more interesting.
Day 78 | Location: Approaching Hoko Island, East Blue
Morning brings calm seas and the distant outline of Hoko Island on the horizon. The events of yesterday have transformed the atmosphere aboard the Crimson Dawn---I'm no longer viewed as a mere passenger but as someone who helped defend the ship. The crew's respect is evident in small gestures: a saved portion of fresh bread at breakfast, a friendly clap on the shoulder, inclusion in conversations previously closed to me.
Nami, meanwhile, has integrated herself with surprising efficiency. Despite initial suspicion from some crew members, her navigational knowledge quickly proved valuable when she suggested a slight course correction that would take advantage of a favorable current. Captain Barrett, pragmatic above all else, recognized skill when he saw it.
I find her at the bow after breakfast, staring thoughtfully at the approaching island.
"Not what you expected?" I ask, joining her at the rail.
She glances sideways at me. "I thought we were headed to the timber island."
"We are."
She gestures toward Hoko. "That's a resort island. Look at those beaches and the buildings on the hillside. That's not an industrial timber operation."
I follow her gaze with new interest. She's right---the shoreline features pristine white beaches, and what I can now make out as elegant structures nestled among lush forest.
"Maybe the timber operation is on the other side?" I suggest.
Nami shakes her head. "Possible, but unlikely. Resort islands typically maintain their entire coastline for tourism."
Captain Barrett approaches, overhearing our conversation. "You've got a good eye, Miss Nami. Hoko is indeed both---a luxury resort on the southern coast and a specialized timber operation in the northern highlands. They cater to wealthy clients who want to personally select wood for their vessels."
This makes perfect sense---combining luxury accommodation with specialized commerce. Wealthy shipowners could stay in comfort while personally inspecting and selecting their materials.
"Efficient," I comment.
"And expensive," Barrett adds with a knowing look. "The timber's quality justifies the price, but don't expect bargains."
As we draw closer to the island, I notice several elegant ships anchored in the natural harbor---private vessels rather than merchant or Marine craft. The wealth on display is considerable.
Red Queen speaks quietly through my earpiece when Barrett moves away. "Captain, I've completed analysis of the storage ring prototype. It's now operational at 92% efficiency. Current capacity is equivalent to approximately three cubic meters of storage space."
Excellent timing. With a functional storage ring, I can purchase timber samples without worrying about transport back to Loguetown.
By midday, we've docked at Hoko's impressive wharf. Captain Barrett informs me that the Crimson Dawn will remain here for two days---time enough for me to conduct my business before they return to Loguetown.
"And you, Miss Nami?" Barrett asks. "Will you be continuing with us?"
She smiles enigmatically. "I haven't decided yet. This island looks... interesting."
I can practically see the calculations behind her eyes. A resort island means wealthy visitors, which means valuable possessions potentially ripe for the taking. Especially if those visitors let their guards down in paradise.
After gathering my belongings, I prepare to disembark. To my mild surprise, Nami falls into step beside me.
"Mind some company?" she asks casually. "I'm curious about this timber business myself."
I raise an eyebrow. "Are you planning to build a ship too?"
"Information is always valuable," she replies with a shrug. "You never know when knowledge might be worth something to the right buyer."
Classic Nami logic. I nod my agreement, secretly pleased at the chance to spend more time with her. Despite knowing her true purpose here likely involves theft rather than friendship, I can't help but feel a connection to this character who meant so much to me in my previous life.
As we walk down the gangplank, I absently twist the storage ring on my finger---a simple band of local metal with subtle Devilukean circuitry embedded within. It looks ordinary enough, but now contains a pocket dimension capable of storing significantly more than its physical size would suggest.
A perfect first test presents itself at the harbor master's office, where visitors must register upon arrival. While completing the necessary paperwork (using carefully crafted identification that Red Queen helped me prepare), I purchase a detailed map of the island.
When no one is watching, I subtly press the activation pattern on the ring and concentrate on storing the map. It dissolves into particles of light that flow into the ring's dimensional pocket---success! I can retrieve it later with a reverse of the same process.
Nami, sharp-eyed as ever, notices something. "Nice trick," she murmurs. "Some kind of Devil Fruit ability?"
"Something like that," I reply noncommittally. In this world, Devil Fruits provide a convenient explanation for almost any unusual ability.
She doesn't press further, but I can tell my stock has risen in her estimation. Useful abilities make for useful potential allies in her current line of work.
We follow the harbor master's directions to the timber company's reception office---an elegantly appointed building that looks more like a luxury hotel lobby than a business. Inside, well-dressed staff greet visitors and direct them to various services.
I approach the receptionist, a poised young woman with an impeccable smile. "Good afternoon. I'm interested in learning about your shipbuilding timbers."
"Of course, sir. May I ask if you have an appointment with one of our wood specialists?"
"I don't," I admit. "This is a preliminary visit to understand your offerings."
She nods understandingly. "In that case, might I suggest our introductory tour? It begins in thirty minutes and covers our cultivation methods, wood types, and selection process. Many clients find it helpful before making specific inquiries."
Perfect. I register for the tour, paying a modest fee that probably helps filter out casual tourists. Nami hangs back, apparently reconsidering the value of timber knowledge against the cost of admission.
"I think I'll explore the resort instead," she decides. "Meet for dinner later to compare notes?"
I agree, and we arrange to meet at a harborside restaurant that evening. As she leaves, I wonder what "exploring" will entail for her. Reconnaissance for future theft, most likely, but I can hardly judge her given what drives her actions.
The timber tour proves fascinating. Our guide, an older gentleman named Farrow who clearly loves his work, leads a small group of five potential clients through manicured forests where specific trees are cultivated with painstaking care.
"Here at Hoko Timber, we've perfected methods passed down through fifteen generations," he explains, tenderly examining the bark of a massive tree. "Each species is raised in optimal conditions for shipbuilding purposes."
He shows us white oak prized for frame construction, cedar for planking, teak for decking, and several species I don't recognize with names like blueheart and ironwood. Each has specific properties that make it valuable for different parts of a vessel.
Most interesting is a tree called Adam Wood---a name that sends a jolt of recognition through me. In the series, this was the legendary timber Franky used to build the Thousand Sunny after the Going Merry was lost.
"Our Adam Wood grove is our most prized cultivation," Farrow tells us with evident pride. "The trees take a minimum of eighty years to mature properly. We harvest perhaps three per decade, and the waiting list for purchase is currently twelve years long."
One of the other clients---a heavyset man dripping with ostentatious jewelry---scoffs. "Twelve years? Ridiculous. Surely for the right price, that timeline could be... adjusted?"
Farrow's expression cools noticeably. "Sir, Adam Wood cannot be rushed, nor can our process be corrupted.