It should've taken three days.
With a normal sail, even with a good wind, the distance between Leverdent and Mabo Harbor was a long, dragging passage. But I wasn't sailing normally, nor was the wind left to its own mind.
With the Barbossa Sword, every time I focused, wind filled the sail as if summoned by a great wind spirit, and the waves didn't crash; they parted. And this small ship moved through the sea as if it had a mind of its own.
One day. One sleepless, blistering, salt-stung day is all that's it took for me to return to Mabo Harbor.
Sitting on a chair, with my back to the only cabin on the boat, my left hand was resting on the Sword hilt all the time, making sure I was controlling the ship all the time. And using the Sparrow Compass to make sure I was sailing in the right direction.
And I have to say, although I ordered them from The Box for this purpose, now that I know more about sailing on the sea, I know how much of a cheat these two items were.
I can go from island A to island B on the safest and most optimal path and at the highest speed.
Not only that, after I got used to controlling the ship suspiciously (which is more like using the autopilot), I even had the time to read a book.
Well, not exactly.
The book was one of the books recommended to me about navigation and sail Mastery, sat open on the small table beside me, its pages curled from the spray. I read it between gusts, eyes skimming lines about knots and wind angles, half understanding it, half bluffing my way through. As I knew that every line was a poor substitute for experience.
By the time the jagged roofs of Mabo Harbor peeked over the horizon, the sun was already falling again.
I haven't slept for more than a day and a half, even with all the coffee I drank, I couldn't help but feel a bit lightheaded.
Dockworkers were shouting long before I reached shore. My boots hit the dock with a hollow thud.
The air smelled like fish, salt, and wood. Dockhands shouted over the clatter of crates. And seagulls screamed overhead, returning to their nests, who knows where.
Not bothering to look around. I strode up to the nearest official-looking guy in a vest stained with oil and old salt.
'I know no one should care for your appearance after a hard and long work day, but you are the authority's representative, shouldn't you try to look more presentable? Where is our hard-earned tax money going?'
I handed him my tax/porting fees and asked, "Which ship's heading to Halden?"
Halden is the closest island in the next region, and according to the Sparrow Compass and the map I have, there should be another Devil Fruit in that region. So I will reach Halden first and see what I will do from there.
He pointed behind him with a thick thumb. "The third big bastard there, a cargo ship. She's leaving at dawn."
Nodding at him and moving to where he pointed, I saw it.
It was a three-masted, black hull, wood as dark as pitch and scarred from storms that probably had names but surprisingly looked maintained. For my modern eyes, it looked like something they'd pull out of a museum. But it was solid, real, and big enough to make me feel like a barnacle.
The captain near the helm, barking orders in a voice that could strip paint, and he looked big and scary, but I had long noticed that in this world, size really doesn't matter much.
He noticed me before I spoke.
"Passenger?" he asked, spitting off to the side.
'Yeah, fuck decency and hygiene…'
"…Yeah. One man and a private cabin. I don't want to sleep in a pile of limbs." 'And people who are going to spit like this."
He raised an eyebrow. "I see, but it would cost more."
"I didn't ask for cheap," I said, tossing him two rolls of cash. Which he caught it without looking, bit it like a cliché, and nodded.
"Cabin eleven on the stern side. Luxury is not guaranteed."
"As long as no rats."
He laughed, short and sharp, then he told me to be here by dawn or they will leave without me.
Nodding silently, I left.
After that, I needed land. Solid stone under my boots. I left the dock and slipped into the harbor town, which still looked neat and practical as long as you ignored the materials coming and going on carts, it looked like a normal town.
'A town that screams carpenters.'
However, it didn't stop it from having crooked buildings leaning like tired drunks.
The inn I picked had a crooked chimney and smelled like ale, old smoke, and something vaguely fishy.
I booked a room, dropped cash on the counter, and ordered the biggest plate they had. Beef, eggs, potatoes soaked in grease, and two slabs of bread so thick they could've stopped a blade. I chewed mechanically.
The noise in the inn was a warm kind of chaos—dice clattering, mugs clinking, the occasional curse flung across the room like a dart. I didn't join them. Other than my poor social skills, I was feeling tired and depressed.
When the plate was scraped clean and my hunger dulled, I stepped into the chilly night and headed toward the bookstore I'd spotted earlier. The bell jingled overhead, soft as a whisper, and the shopkeeper barely looked up. I browsed quickly, picked up three books: another on sailing, one thick book on the region I am heading to, and one that looked like a popular novel just to keep my mind distracted.
'Okay, I got the books, one last thing to do before sleep.'
The sky had turned ink-black. Lanterns along the piers flickered weakly, casting golden halos over the water. I walked back to the dock with purpose, boots tapping quietly against wood.
No one noticed me, or that's what I would like to think.
Moving like this until I reached my small vessel, making sure that no one was seeing me again, I took out a small bottle.
The bottle was cool in my hand—glass smooth and no larger than a man's fist. I popped the cork of the bottle and unsheathed the Barbossa Sword, using its power to control the ship and do what I think it could do.
Not long later, a wisp of the water around the boat floated and streamed into the bottle, and soon after, the boat groaned once, then began to shrink. Wood folded in on itself, sails collapsed, hull compressed, and pulled into the bottle like water down a drain.
Even though I was the one controlling this scene, I couldn't stop my mouth from going agape, my dead fish eyes widening until they almost became normal.
In seconds, the small ship floated inside, tiny and perfect, like a souvenir from a shop.
Even for me, the scene was bizarre and magical. I looked at the Sword again, gulping at the amount of power it had.
'Looks like choosing this thing was not a bad choice at all.'
Corking the bottle, I tucked it in my bag and left the docks before anyone noticed.
Back at the inn, I asked the innkeeper to knock at my door an hour before dawn, and walked to my room.
I climbed the stairs, my room smelled of old linens and stale woodsmoke. I sat on the edge of the bed, boots still on, coat half unbuttoned. The sagged mattress looked like it wanted to swallow me whole, even though I knew it had lost this attribute long ago.
'Looks like I was this tired.'
I was tired, but for some reason, sleep didn't come.
I stared at the ceiling, everything around me seemed still, but my mind wasn't.
'I missed them.'
Komachi, my Mom and Dad, Yuigahama, Isshiki, my grandparents, Totsuka….
Yukino…
Were they looking for me?
Had they moved on?
How long will it take for me to return?
Would they even recognize me by then?
I rolled onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow. The silence filled the space around me. A thick, heavy thing. I clenched my eyes shut.
Damn, I am sleep deprived. And I have a ship to catch early.
Next morning…
A fist hammered on my door.
"Get up!" came the innkeeper's gruff and unwomanly voice. "Ship sails in an hour, sir. Don't miss it."
I jolted upright, my pulse spiking. For a second, I didn't know where I was. The room was dark save for a sliver of pre-dawn light crawling through the cracked shutter.
The stiff cot creaked beneath me as I swung my legs over and pressed bare feet to the cold wooden floor. My head throbbed from a lousy sleep and a brain that didn't shut off.
I stood up and dragged myself to get the bowl with water on the other side of the door.
The water was freezing. I splashed it on anyway. It shocked me awake better than the innkeeper ever could. The face staring back from the cloudy mirror had the same dead eyes but with an even dead heart.
Downstairs, the inn's common room still stank of smoke, ale, and old meat. The innkeeper slapped a bowl of overcooked leftover porridge from yesterday on the table without a word. I nodded, she grunted. Mutual disregard in its purest, grimiest form.
'Professional people, my favorite…'
I ate fast, the porridge like clay on my tongue, but it filled the void in my gut.
'Next time, choose a better inn.'
Then I was out the door, boots thudding against the stone street. Fog clung low, swallowing the town whole. Only the harbor lights cut through it—wavering lanterns and the silhouette of masts, like a dry forest after winter.
The docks weren't crowded. Just a few traders finishing their loading, a couple of sleepy-eyed crewmen loitering by a stack of crates, smoking leaf-rolled cigs and muttering sleepy, uncomprehensible words.
My transport was on sight, I double-checked and saw the Captain and some recognizable crewmembers, then made for the ramp.
The vice-captain, a tall man with a limp and no patience, waved me through after getting my name, told me the cabin number, and twitch of the chin toward the passenger deck.
I didn't care for fanfare. I just wanted to get on with it.
My cabin was better than expected—small but clean, with a narrow bunk bolted to the wall, a locker, and a window no wider than my head.
I dropped my bags, then sat on the bunk and leaned back.
Finally. I was on my way.
An hour later, the ship gave a shudder, the anchor was up, and the sails were unfolded. I stood by the window and watched as the shore grew smaller. The town, the inn, the port—they all receded into mist.
Just liked how I wanted it.
The first few days blurred.
I didn't talk to anyone, didn't care to. I stayed in my cabin mostly, nose buried in the books I had. I ate twice a day, always alone. Quick meals, no conversation. Then back to the cabin.
The ship moved steadily. The captain kept her far from storm lines and pirate hot spots. The crew was surprisingly professional. No singing sailors or drunk deckhands.
By day five, I was in the dining hall, picking at dried fish and hard bread, when the voices got louder behind me.
"…it is unbelievable," someone said. "A rookie from the East Blue just took down a Shichibukai."
"Fire Fist Ace!"
"His bounty has risen again, huh?"
'Hm?'
I didn't look. Just chewed slower.
"No one thought Hanafuda would fall like that. He's one of the Seven."
"Was," another corrected. "Got booted after the loss. They can't scare the pirates with a loser, can they? He's done."
They kept going. I forced myself not to care—but the name stuck.
Fire Fist Ace!
Portgas D. Ace, the brother of the protagonist Luffy, and a Logia Fruit user.
Judging from the title, he should have already eaten the fruit by now.
However, to think he is already strong enough to take down a Shichibukai?
"Portgas D. Ace," the first voice said, almost reverent. "Rumors say he refused an invitation to be a Shichibukai."
"Turned down a seat?" someone scoffed. "Either stupid or crazy."
"Or powerful enough not to give a fuck," another muttered.
Ace's name in this world wasn't new to me—I'd heard it whispered in taverns, mentioned in bounty slips—but I had only thought that I was around the time that Ace started his voyage. But if he had already eaten the Logia Fruit and had even taken down a Shichibukai, the one that's named Hanafuda…
Does that mean he has been sailing for a while now?
'Was Luffy about to sail too?'
I was lost in my thoughts when another group talked again.
"Red-Haired Shanks fought Big Mom."
My bread paused mid-bite.
"Over territories?" someone asked.
"Aye. Big Mom moved a fleet into the Cracked Gulf. Shanks didn't take it well."
"They say Shanks took down half of the fleet, on his own!"
"Bullshit."
"Right? Sometimes, the news from the Grand Line makes you wonder what stuff whoever wrote these reports was smoking."
"And it is not one or two, all of the newspapers almost say the same thing!"
"Just what the hell is going on in the Grand Line?"
"I always heard that the weather in the Grand Line is crazy, maybe it is crazy enough to affect people's minds!"
"Oi! Isn't that a bit farfetched?"
"Shut up! Like you have something better to say!"
"Of course I have! This guy, Shanks, must have eaten a Devil Fruit!"
"..."
"Buhahahaha!"
"Hahahaha!!"
"Again with this talkHAHAHA!!"
"Come on man, you are old enough to know that's a child's story!"
"But look here, they are calling him Fire Fist! Why would they call him that?"
"It is just a nickname to scare off people, dude!"
"Devil Fruit is just a sea myth!"
I finished my meal, asked for a newspaper, and left.
Back in my cabin, I stared at the porthole, watching the water cut past. My fingers drummed on the edge of my bunk.
Hearing about the Yonko thing was new to me, as it wasn't in the manga.
From what I had understood, the Yonko are four very successful Pirates that had power, influence, and territories much like governments. And their influence does not just extend to the Grand Line, but also to the other four Blues.
Although, from what I understood, they don't care much about the East Blue, the weakest sea.
Devil Fruits here are treated like fairy tales, and not much stronger people are known here. So the Yonko didn't care about this sea.
But what made me surprised is that Shanks, the one who inspired Luffy to go to the sea, was actually such a big figure.
It made me question what he was really doing in the East Blue...
'Still, it wasn't my business.'
Such high-profile people should all be very powerful and troublesome to deal with. Even the weakest person under their command could easily squash a dozen Hachiman.
Getting on their radar will only bring catastrophes over my head.
I only want to get out of this world as fast as possible, I don't want to be dragged into anyone's mess.
Just when I was about to put down the newspaper and pick up my books, I heard commotion coming from the deck.
...
A/N: This is a glimpse of where Hachiman is in the timeline. (And no, Luffy didn't sail yet.)
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