Day 80 | Location: Hoko Island, East Blue
Dawn finds me at the harbor, assessing damage from last night's raid. Marine personnel are still taking inventory of losses, but the Crimson Dawn appears largely unscathed—Captain Barrett and his crew defended their vessel effectively.
I spot Nami near the water's edge, casually observing a group of Marines inspecting an abandoned pirate longboat. Something about her posture—a carefully maintained nonchalance—suggests she's had a productive night amid the chaos.
"Sleep well?" I ask, approaching from her peripheral vision to avoid startling her.
She turns with a practiced smile that reveals nothing. "Well enough. You look surprisingly refreshed for someone who was fighting pirates at midnight."
"I recover quickly," I reply with deliberate understatement. "Breakfast?"
We find a small café already open despite the previous night's disruption. After ordering, I broach the subject that's been on my mind since receiving Thornhill's map.
"How would you feel about a slight detour before returning to Loguetown?"
Nami's expression shifts to cautious interest. "What kind of detour?"
Instead of answering directly, I reach into my coat and produce a small pouch, sliding it across the table. Her curiosity overrides caution; she opens it to find several small gemstones—part of my dwindling reserve of tradable valuables.
"A down payment," I explain as she examines a sapphire with expert assessment. "For your navigational services."
"These are worth at least 200,000 berries," she notes, voice carefully neutral despite the obvious interest in her eyes. "Where exactly are you planning to navigate?"
I lean forward, lowering my voice. "What if I told you I've acquired a map to an uncharted island rumored to contain extremely valuable natural resources?"
"I'd say you were either lying or being scammed," she responds bluntly, though she hasn't pushed the gemstones back toward me. "Uncharted islands with convenient treasures are usually too good to be true."
"Usually," I agree. "But this comes from a reputable source with significant supporting evidence."
Our food arrives, pausing the conversation. Once the server departs, I continue.
"Madame Thornhill provided the map as thanks for intervention during the raid. It was her grandfather's—a man who supposedly found an island with wild Adam Wood forests."
Now I have Nami's full attention. We both know the value of such a discovery.
"She just... gave you a map to an island worth billions?" Skepticism drips from every word.
"She offered a potential partnership if I can confirm the island exists," I explain. "But there's a catch—the location is in a region known for unusual weather patterns and navigational anomalies."
Nami's eyes light up with professional interest. "The Misty Passage? Between here and the Grand Line entrance?"
I nod, impressed by her immediate identification. "Exactly. According to Thornhill, that's why subsequent expeditions failed to relocate it."
"Most sailors avoid that region entirely," she confirms. "The magnetic fields fluctuate unpredictably, and sudden storms materialize without warning. Navigation is extraordinarily difficult."
"Which is why I need someone extraordinary," I conclude.
She picks up one of the gemstones, turning it in the light. "Flattery and jewels—a persuasive combination." Her eyes narrow. "What's the split if we find something valuable?"
"Fifty-fifty on any portable treasure," I offer without hesitation. "As for the Adam Wood itself, I'm more interested in securing samples and confirming location than immediate harvest. That would require resources beyond our current capabilities."
Nami considers this, obviously calculating angles and possibilities. "I'd need to see this map before committing."
"Of course."
After finishing our meal, we return to my room at the inn, where I retrieve the rolled parchment from my storage ring—a reveal I've calculated as acceptable. Nami raises an eyebrow at the apparent magic but focuses immediately on the map once I spread it on the table.
Her expertise is evident in the way she examines the document—checking paper quality, ink composition, scale indicators, and notations with practiced efficiency.
"This is authentic period craftsmanship," she acknowledges, running her finger along a faded compass rose. "At least fifty years old based on the paper aging and ink fade patterns."
She studies the island's unusual shape, making quick calculations with a small ruler she produces from her pocket.
"If these scale indicators are accurate, it's substantial—maybe twenty square miles." Her finger traces the crescent bay. "This would be a natural harbor, protected from northern winds. And these markings in the forest..." She looks up. "This indicates exceptional tree growth?"
I nod. "According to Thornhill, her grandfather found wild Adam Wood there—the source of their current cultivated stock."
Nami sits back, expression thoughtful. "Finding this won't be easy. The map gives approximate coordinates, but with the regional anomalies..." She drums her fingers on the table. "I'd need proper navigational equipment. And a vessel with enough range."
"I've been considering options," I reply. "The Crimson Dawn returns to Loguetown tomorrow, but we could secure a smaller craft here."
"For this kind of expedition, smaller might actually be better," Nami muses. "More maneuverable in unpredictable currents." Her eyes meet mine directly. "I'll need a proper contract. Written terms."
Her caution is understandable given her experiences. I agree readily, and we spend the next hour drafting a document that satisfies her requirements—payment terms, treasure division, expedition parameters, and an explicit clause regarding her freedom to abandon the venture if conditions become too dangerous.
With our agreement formalized, we turn to practical preparations. Through Madame Thornhill's connections, I arrange to purchase a well-maintained cutter—a single-masted vessel designed for coastal exploration. While not large, it's seaworthy enough for our purposes and can be handled by a small crew.
"The Swift Gull," Nami reads from the registry papers as we inspect our acquisition later that afternoon. "Decent name for a scout ship."
The vessel is approximately thirty feet in length, with a small cabin, adequate storage space, and relatively new sails. Most importantly, it's equipped with navigation instruments of sufficient quality to satisfy Nami's exacting standards.
"The previous owner was a Marine cartographer," explains the harbormaster as he completes the transfer paperwork. "Retired last year and moved inland. Ship's been maintained but not used much since."
Using the remainder of my immediately accessible funds, I stock the vessel with supplies for a two-week journey—preserved foods, fresh water, spare parts, and basic medical supplies. Throughout the process, Nami observes with professional assessment, occasionally suggesting modifications to our inventory.
By evening, the Swift Gull is ready to depart with the morning tide. We celebrate our impending venture with dinner at a harborside restaurant, where Nami's mood has noticeably lightened since accepting the arrangement.
"So, this Adam Wood," she says between bites of perfectly prepared sea king steak. "What exactly makes it so valuable?"
"According to Thornhill, it possesses unique structural properties," I explain. "Extraordinary strength-to-weight ratio, natural resistance to rot and marine organisms, and unusual resilience to both impact and water pressure."
"Sounds ideal for shipbuilding," Nami observes.
"It's considered the pinnacle material for naval construction," I confirm. "The legendary shipwright Tom used it to build Gold Roger's Oro Jackson."
This catches her attention. "Roger's ship? Really?"
I nod, careful not to reveal more knowledge of Tom than would be publicly available. "That's what makes it so valuable—beyond its natural properties, it has historical significance."
"And historical prices," Nami adds with a mercenary gleam. "A single log would be worth millions."
"If we can confirm the island exists and still has living Adam trees, that alone is valuable intelligence," I note. "Even without harvesting anything immediately."
Our conversation drifts to practical matters of navigation and sailing. Despite her young age, Nami's knowledge is comprehensive—a testament to her years of self-education and practical experience sailing under various crews. I find myself genuinely impressed by her expertise, asking questions that allow her to demonstrate her knowledge without seeming to test her.
"Most sailors rely too heavily on eternal poses when available," she explains, sketching a diagram on a napkin. "But understanding natural navigation methods is essential, especially in areas with magnetic anomalies."
"Like reading atmospheric pressure changes?" I suggest.
Her eyes light up. "Exactly! Most people only notice weather changes when clouds form, but if you track barometric trends, you can predict formations hours in advance."
As night falls, we return to the inn to rest before tomorrow's early departure. In the privacy of my room, I confer with Red Queen one final time.
"All systems nominal for extended sea journey," she reports. "However, I should note that our sensor array may experience difficulties in the region we're targeting. Historical data suggests unusual electromagnetic phenomena that could interfere with scanning capabilities."
"We'll rely on Nami's navigational skills," I decide. "And use technological assistance only when absolutely necessary."
"Understood, Captain. The storage ring is functioning at optimal capacity should we need to retrieve emergency supplies."
I spend an hour meditating to center myself before sleep. Tomorrow marks a significant shift in my approach to this world—from passive observer to active participant. The expedition could significantly accelerate my integration and resource acquisition, but it also increases exposure and risk.
Yet something feels right about this path. If narrative causality truly operates in this world, perhaps this is the role I'm meant to play—not changing the core story, but operating in its margins, discovering aspects of this universe that were never revealed in the tale I once knew.
## Day 81 | Location: Departing Hoko Island, East Blue
We set sail with the morning tide, the Swift Gull proving herself nimble and responsive under Nami's expert handling. The weather was ideal—clear skies, moderate winds from the southwest, and calm seas that promised good progress toward our destination.
Madame Thornhill saw us off personally, providing last-minute advice about the region we were targeting.
"The local fishermen call it the Ghost Current," she told us quietly. "They say the mists play tricks on the mind—showing phantom islands that disappear when approached, or concealing real dangers until you're upon them."
"Sounds like the perfect place to hide valuable resources," Nami commented with practical assessment.
"My grandfather's journal mentioned navigation by sound rather than sight," Thornhill added. "Something about distinctive echoes from the true island's cliffs."
I thanked her for the information and her trust, promising to report our findings regardless of outcome. With final farewells completed, Nami expertly guided our vessel out of the harbor and set course for the mysterious region.
Once we were in open water, she demonstrated why she was considered a navigational prodigy. Her understanding of wind patterns, currents, and optimal sailing angles allowed us to make excellent speed while conserving energy. She frequently consulted her own charts, comparing them with Thornhill's map and making calculations I could only partially follow.
"We should reach the edge of the Misty Passage in about three days," she informed me, adjusting our heading slightly. "From there, conventional navigation becomes... unreliable."
I nodded, watching her work with obvious competence. "Then it's fortunate I found the best navigator in the East Blue."
She snorted at the compliment but couldn't entirely hide her pleased expression. "Flattery won't get you a bigger share of the treasure."
"Just stating facts," I replied with a shrug. "Besides, if this island really exists, there should be plenty for both of us."
The first day passed uneventfully. We established a comfortable rhythm, taking shifts at the helm and making good progress. As evening approached, I prepared our meal using one of my more innocuous gadgets—a specialized cooking set I'd created with my wish power that could self-regulate temperature and timing.
Nami watched with undisguised curiosity as I unpacked the compact device and set it up on the small deck.
"Another one of your strange inventions?" she asked, leaning against the mast.
"Just something I put together for traveling," I explained, activating the heating element. "Makes preparing meals easier when you're short on space and fuel."
Within minutes, the small apparatus had produced perfectly cooked fish and rice. Nami accepted her portion with a raised eyebrow.
"You're full of surprises, Kai. Not many travelers carry custom cooking equipment."
"I like efficiency," I said simply, serving up the food. "And decent meals."
We ate in companionable silence as the sun set over the horizon, painting the sea in brilliant oranges and reds. When we finished, Nami brought out a small bottle of sake she'd apparently acquired in town.
"For good fortune," she explained, pouring two small cups. "It's traditional before a treasure hunt."
We toasted silently and sipped the warm liquid. As darkness fell, I could see Nami studying me with cautious interest.
"So," she finally broke the silence, "where are you really from, Kai? Your accent is... unusual."
I'd prepared for this question. "Far north," I replied. "A small island most people haven't heard of."
"And you learned engineering there? Those gadgets of yours aren't exactly common."
"I've always had a knack for building things," I said, which wasn't entirely untrue. "And I've traveled extensively, picking up techniques from different regions."
She nodded, though her expression made it clear she knew I was being evasive. "Most people with your skills would be working for a shipyard or the Marines. Good money in both."
"I prefer independence," I said simply. "Freedom to choose my own path."
Something in my tone must have resonated with her, because her expression softened slightly. "Freedom is valuable," she agreed, her voice taking on a distant quality. "Worth almost any price."
The conversation shifted to practical matters after that—watch schedules, navigation plans, and what we might expect in the coming days. Eventually, Nami retired to the small cabin while I took first watch under a brilliant canopy of stars.
I checked in quietly with Red Queen once I was alone.
"All systems functioning normally," she reported. "No vessels detected within scanning range. Weather patterns remain stable for the next 24 hours."
"Good," I murmured. "Keep passive monitoring active but minimize power usage. We'll be entering anomalous regions soon."
"Acknowledged. May I inquire about your assessment of Navigator Nami?"
I considered the question carefully. "Highly competent. Cautious but pragmatic. Trust issues, obviously, but that's to be expected given her situation."
"And your decision to bring her on this expedition?"
"Calculated risk," I admitted. "Her navigational skills are exactly what we need, and this gives me an opportunity to build rapport."
I didn't add what we both knew—that I was drawn to helping her, despite the potential complications. Some part of me couldn't ignore the suffering she was enduring under Arlong's control, even knowing the eventual canonical outcome.
"Understood," Red Queen replied. "Sleep cycle recommended in three hours to maintain optimal performance."
I nodded absently, my gaze on the stars above. So different from the constellations I'd known in two separate lives, yet beautiful in their own right. For a moment, I allowed myself to simply exist in this world that had once been fiction to me but was now undeniably real.
## Day 82-94 | Location: East Blue, En Route to Misty Passage
The next two weeks passed in a surprisingly comfortable routine. Nami and I settled into complementary roles aboard the Swift Gull, her navigational expertise guiding us through increasingly challenging waters as we approached the mysterious region.
On our third day, we encountered a small pod of sea kings—juvenile specimens, thankfully, more curious than hostile. Nami handled the encounter with impressive calm, adjusting our course to give them wide berth while I prepared defensive measures just in case.
"You've dealt with sea kings before?" I asked as we watched the massive creatures glide beneath our vessel.
"More times than I'd like," she replied, eyes tracking their movement with professional assessment. "East Blue has fewer than other seas, but they still show up. The trick is reading their behavior—these ones are just investigating. No hunting patterns."
Her knowledge continuously impressed me, though I was careful not to show too much admiration. Nami was justifiably suspicious of praise that might conceal ulterior motives.
By the end of the first week, we'd established a comfortable rhythm. Mornings began with navigation checks and course adjustments, followed by maintenance tasks and skill-sharing sessions. I taught Nami some basic engineering principles for ship repair, while she schooled me in weather prediction techniques that didn't rely on technology.
"These cloud formations indicate a pressure change," she explained on our eighth day, pointing to subtle patterns I would have missed entirely. "See how they're layering? That's a precursor to atmospheric instability."
"How long before it affects us?" I asked, genuinely interested.
"About six hours, but it'll pass north of our position." She glanced at me with professional pride. "If we were a larger vessel, I'd recommend a course adjustment, but we're small enough to slip under it."
She was right, of course. The weather system passed precisely as she predicted, close enough to observe but not enough to threaten our journey.
On the tenth day, a news coo—one of the world's ubiquitous messenger birds—spotted our vessel and diverted toward us. I purchased the paper, scanning the headlines while Nami prepared lunch.
"Anything interesting?" she called from where she was slicing fish for our meal.
"Marine operations against piracy in the North Blue... Trade dispute between Goa Kingdom and some neighboring islands..." I turned the page and froze momentarily. "And a new bounty announcement."
This caught her attention. She set down her knife and moved beside me, looking over my shoulder at the poster prominently displayed on page three.
"'Fire Fist' Ace," she read aloud. "30,000,000 berries. That's a serious number for a rookie."
The picture showed a young man with a confident grin and familiar freckled features. Seeing him alive and well sent an uncomfortable pang through me—knowing what fate would eventually befall him if events proceeded according to the story I remembered.
"Says here he's making a name for himself in the Grand Line," I noted, keeping my voice casual despite the turmoil of foreknowledge. "Turned down a Warlord invitation, apparently."
"Brave or stupid," Nami commented, returning to her food preparation. "Probably both."
I folded the paper carefully, tucking the bounty poster into my journal. Something to remember, a tangible connection to this world's unfolding story.
As our journey progressed, I gradually introduced more of my "inventions" to ease our voyage. A compact weather shield that protected against sudden squalls. An efficient water purification system that extended our fresh water supplies. A self-regulating preservation box that kept our food fresh longer than normal methods.
Each revelation was calculated—nothing too advanced or inexplicable, but useful enough to establish my credibility as an inventor. Nami's initial skepticism gradually transformed into pragmatic acceptance and eventually genuine interest.
"This is impressive," she admitted on the twelfth day, examining my gourmet table—a collapsible cooking surface with integrated heating elements and specialized compartments. "You could make good money selling these to luxury vessels."
"Perhaps someday," I replied, setting the surface to precisely the right temperature for searing fish. "For now, I'm focused on more immediate goals."
The meal that evening was our best yet—perfectly prepared sea bream with herb-infused rice and vegetable garnish. As we ate under a canopy of stars, with the gentle rhythm of waves against our hull, Nami's usual guardedness seemed to soften slightly.
"So what's your real story, Kai?" she asked, setting down her empty plate. "And don't give me that 'island to the north' nonsense again."
I considered my response carefully. "What makes you think there's more?"
She gave me a look that clearly questioned my intelligence. "Your gadgets are unlike anything I've seen, even from North Blue engineers. You fight with techniques that don't match any established style. And sometimes you look at things like..." she hesitated.
"Like what?"
"Like you already know what's going to happen," she finished, eyes narrowing slightly. "It's unsettling."
I weighed my options. Complete honesty was impossible, but perhaps a partial truth would satisfy her curiosity without revealing too much.
"I've been... displaced," I said finally. "My home is very far from here—farther than you might imagine. I'm exploring this world while I figure out my next steps."
"Displaced," she repeated, considering the word. "That's deliberately vague."
I shrugged. "It's the most accurate term I have."
She studied me for a long moment, then surprisingly, she nodded. "Fair enough. We all have our secrets." Her expression turned calculating. "Just remember our agreement. Fifty-fifty on any treasure we find."
"I wouldn't forget," I assured her.
By the fourteenth day, we had entered the fringes of the Misty Passage. True to its name, banks of dense fog materialized seemingly from nowhere, reducing visibility to mere yards at times. The air took on a strange quality—heavy with moisture and carrying sounds in unpredictable ways.
"We're in it now," Nami announced, making constant adjustments to our heading. "The compass is already starting to fluctuate."
I observed from nearby, impressed with her focus as she navigated by instinct and experience rather than instruments. "How can you tell which way to go when everything looks the same?"
"It's not about seeing," she explained, gaze fixed ahead. "It's about feeling. The currents beneath us, the way the wind shifts and carries scents. There are patterns if you know how to read them."
As evening approached, the fog thickened further, creating an eerie atmosphere as diffused light played through the mist. Nami's expression grew increasingly concentrated as she worked to maintain our course.
"We should anchor for the night," she finally decided. "Navigation in these conditions after dark would be foolish."
I agreed, helping her secure the vessel in what appeared to be a relatively calm pocket within the mysterious region. After a simple dinner, we both retired early, knowing the next day would likely bring significant challenges.
In the quiet of night, I conducted a final check with Red Queen.
"Sensor functionality at 43% capacity," she reported. "Electromagnetic anomalies are interfering with most scanning systems."
"Expected," I murmured. "Any threats detected within range?"
"Negative, though reliability is compromised. Passive sonar detects unusual current patterns approximately two nautical miles southeast of our position."
I made a mental note to suggest that heading to Nami in the morning. "Maintain minimal monitoring. Alert only for immediate dangers."
As I drifted toward sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were on the verge of something significant.