James woke groggy. His mouth was dry, and a dull pressure pulsed near the back of his skull. Wooden boards rocked gently under him. He stayed still at first, eyes closed, breathing steady. A heavy scent clung to his face—chemical and sour, the kind that left a sting behind the eyes. Someone had pressed something over his mouth earlier. He remembered that much.
Voices reached him through the quiet sway of the boat.
"I'm gonna buy a big ship," said one. The tone was slow and certain, like every word carried great weight. "And get a lotta girlfriends." He said with his deep voice.
"Ha! First, stop picking your nose," said another—sharper, faster, coated in snake oil charm.
"My girlfriends can do it for me," came the reply. "I'm very rich."? In a deep voice.
James opened his eyes.
Everything around him was dark. Shadows wrapped the cramped space beneath the deck. Thin seams in the planks above let in faint streaks of silvery light, just enough to make out shapes—a coil of rope, the vague edge of a barrel, his own small hands.
He sat up slowly. Wood creaked. A soft chill clung to his skin. Judging by the shifting beams above, the moon hung somewhere behind them.
James scanned the dim interior. The stars had been sharp earlier, the air crisp and clean. Light bled in from above now, pale and uncertain.
His captors were just above. Their footsteps shifted with the boat, voices drifting down in lazy waves.
James stayed still a moment longer. The dark made it hard to see clearly, but his ears worked just fine.
They were celebrating.
And James began thinking.
What could he do?
James took a deep breath. Salt touched his nose—faint but steady—and the distant, rhythmic sway of the boards beneath him suggested open water. The boat shifted with the tide, each motion gentle but constant, enough to confirm it. The anime had never conveyed this part—the weight of the sea, the press of damp air, the quiet groan of timber carried far from shore. This wasn't just a setting. It wrapped around him, steady and real.
Dammit. What now…
All of a sudden, the boat dropped—sharp and heavy, like something massive had slammed down onto it from above, the jolt slamming James's chest into the floor. The wooden planks groaned beneath him, the hull creaking under the strain, and the sea slapped harder along the sides, waves pushed out in uneven bursts from the impact.
He pressed his palms flat to the boards, breathing through his nose, every nerve on edge. The air inside the cabin had changed, like the space itself held its breath.
Then came the shift.
The boat rose again, slowly, the pressure easing as it bobbed back to its place in the water. The motion didn't feel like waves—it felt like whatever had struck had pulled away, leaving the vessel rocking in jagged, unpredictable rhythm.
James kept still, staring into the dark above him, ears straining. The wood overhead creaked again, not from the sea, but from weight—weight that hadn't been there before.
He blinked, heart thudding, unsure of what had just hit them. The shift had knocked something loose in his chest, like a jolt from the inside out. For a second, it was all creaks and wood groaning, the smell of salt and old tar thick in the dark.
Then—
The man with the deep voice spoke first or he made a sound.
"All he heard was 'wh—'"
Then the boom came.
A sharp crack like thunder cracking over open sea, but closer. More violent. Like the sky had just snapped in half above them. The boat jolted again—hard. The floor lurched beneath James, planks flexing under him as the hull rocked sharply in one direction, then settled back with a long groan. He felt it in his teeth. It was the kind of impact that shook a ship from bow to stern.
His breath caught. His fingers pressed against the wood beneath him as if holding on would help.
The snake oil-sounding man's voice followed, brittle and rising. There was a nervous wobble at the edge of his words, the kind that comes when bravado's running thin.
"Who are you?!"
Then the answer came.
Same voice. Calm. Cold. Unhurried. Like a man giving fair warning before the storm landed.
"You took my son. You have three seconds before I break every bone in your body."
James's eyes flew open. His whole body locked up.
That voice….
His father?
It struck him like flint to steel. There was no mistaking it—not with how it sliced through the air like it owned it.
The snail oil sounding man spoke again—
"Be… be… b-below."
The words tumbled out of his mouth like they'd tripped over each other. The fear was thick in it, clear and shaking. He sounded like a man cornered in the dark by something he couldn't put into words—like something sacred had just walked into the room and found him wanting.
James couldn't see his face, but he could feel the dread leaking out of the bastard's mouth with every stammered syllable. He sounded like he might piss himself where he stood.
A second later, the hatch above creaked open. Cool night air rushed in, and the stars came into view—sharp, bright, scattered across a black sky. In that brief silhouette, James saw the outline of a massive figure framed in starlight.
His father.
He couldn't see the man's face clearly from where he lay, but the outline was unmistakable. Broad shoulders. Wild hair. The way he moved—like nothing around him posed the slightest threat.
The snake oil-sounding man's voice came again, panicked but trying to sound smooth. "He's fin—"
He didn't finish.
The ship rocked violently, the boom of compressed air cracking through the night like thunder. Wood groaned. Somewhere above, something—or someone—had just moved faster than anything James had ever felt. He didn't see what happened, but the sound alone made his stomach twist.
Then, heavy footfalls on the steps.
James's father climbed down into the lower deck and crossed the cramped space without hesitation. He crouched low, reached out, and scooped James into his arms in a single, fluid motion. A bear hug—tight and warm, thick fingers cradling the back of his head.
James exhaled. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.
The fear drained from his chest, but in its place came something else.
Wonder.
Curiosity.
His thoughts swirled as he looked up into that shadowed face, heart still racing.
Who the hell was his father?
Five minutes later, the steady rhythm of oars dipped into the water. Tomas sat at the rear of the small dinghy, his broad frame lit faintly by the moonlight. Each stroke he pulled was smooth and powerful, muscles shifting beneath his skin with the casual effort of a man who made it look effortless. The boat moved steadily, gliding across the water in silence except for the soft splash of wood meeting sea.
The dinghy had been on the ship before. James remembered that. Yet somehow, his father had arrived—alone—rowed them away, and now guided them toward shore as if nothing had happened.
Tomas looked relaxed. No sweat. No tension. Just a calm, relieved smile each time his eyes met James's.
James sat curled in the front of the boat, watching him row. His gaze stayed locked on his father's movements. Powerful. Fluid. Unbothered. Questions stirred again-
How had his father arrived?
The dinghy had clearly been there before his father arrived. James hadn't seen it earlier—he'd awoken beneath the main deck—but now, from where he sat, he could tell it had been part of the ship. The ropes that had held it still hung at the stern, loose and swaying, their coils settled where someone had recently freed them.
His father rowed with an easy rhythm, each pull of the oars deep and sure. Muscles worked beneath the skin, but he didn't breathe heavy or strain. Water peeled away from the blades in clean arcs. Tomas looked relaxed, content even, a small smile easing across his face as he glanced at his son. He didn't speak—just rowed.
James sat across from him, quiet, blinking as the moonlight skimmed across the ripples behind them. His mind chased pieces—loose thoughts trying to settle into a picture.
James's mind drifted, trying to make sense of it all. He had never seen his father tired—not once. Not splitting firewood. Not hauling carcasses back after hunts-
He had seen his father effortlessly lift large carcasses without thinking about it.
Then he remembered something.
He'd been a baby. Sleeping in his mother's arms during a trip into town he had seen anything as he didn't have a good view.
But playing out the scense in his minds eye he realized what had occurred-
A wagon wheel had snapped. He hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but he'd heard the story later—and now, that memory sharpened with detail.
Tomas hadn't hesitated. He'd jumped down, wrapped both arms under the broken axle, and lifted the entire side of the wagon. Marry had stayed calm, holding James close, rocking him gently while his father replaced the wheel. No jack. No tools. Just him. It had taken less than a minute.
At the time, no one had said much. A strong man, that's all. But now, floating across the sea, watching him row like the oars weighed nothing, James stared harder.
That memory meant something else now.
As James continued to stare at his father, wide-eyed and silent, it was Tomas who finally broke the quiet.
"You know," he said, tilting his head back slightly to scan the sky, "the stars are something else tonight. There's nothing quite like rowing under a sky like this—clear, calm, stretched so wide it makes the sea feel small."
The words came easy, but the tone shifted just after. Tomas let out a long breath, not rushed or tired, just steady—like he was settling into something more serious. The boat rocked gently beneath them, each pull of the oars smooth and purposeful, the man's muscles working in a rhythm that never faltered.
Then came the pause.
Without looking over, Tomas spoke again, quieter this time, but sharper.
"You're sharper than most kids your size. Always have been. So tell me—why weren't you with the others? You were supposed to go back with your aunt."
James sat still, unsure if his breath caught because of the words or the way they were said. He hadn't exactly hidden anything—he'd just stayed close, stayed quiet, watched everything. But the way his father said it didn't feel like a question. It felt like he'd known all along. That look in his eyes wasn't disappointment or anger—it was something deeper, like he was trying to see if James would finally say what they both knew.
James wasn't sure how to answer at first. He sat in silence, watching the oars dip and pull through the water, the moonlight glinting off each smooth stroke. Then, after a long pause, he went with the truth.
"I wanted to see it," he said, his voice still high with childhood but steady enough. "I wanted to see Gold D. Roger. I didn't want Aunt to take me back."
Tomas gave a small nod, not surprised. "Why didn't you ask? Why sneak off?"
James blinked. That part hadn't seemed so important earlier. Now, sitting in the boat with his father, it hit differently. Shame crept up his spine, his small fingers curling into his lap. "I… I don't know," he mumbled, guilt catching in his throat.
His father's voice came firm, no louder than before, but carved with meaning. "James D. Barrett, you listen to me. Our family trusts each other. That means we talk, we don't run off, and we don't keep secrets. Next time you do something that stupid…" Tomas glanced at him, smile kind but eyes solid. "I'll whip your ass red."
James winced. That part didn't sound like a joke. He pouted a little, then sighed.
"Ugh… okay," he said, shoulders slumping slightly.
Tomas kept rowing, calm and methodical, each pull of the oars smooth and sure. The dinghy glided across the water, cutting through the soft waves under the stars. James watched quietly—watched the steady rhythm of his father's arms, the way his chest rose and fell without strain. He looked like he could row across the whole sea.
The silence hung for a moment before James finally spoke.
"Dad…"
Tomas glanced over, red eyes catching the starlight. "Yeah, son?"
James hesitated, then looked up with a steady voice. "Can you make me strong… like you?"
Tomas chuckled, low and deep. "You really are something else." His grin widened as he looked ahead. "I always knew you had sharp eyes."
He rowed a few more strokes before speaking again. "Keep playing your Marine games. In a few years, you'll start working with me. And when that day comes—I'll put some real muscles on your back."
He looked down at James again, smile firm but kind.
James smiled back at his dad who he thought was the best dad in the whole world.