The sun was warm on the stone steps of the mansion's front garden, casting gentle golden rays that dappled through the leaves of the trimmed trees. The morning breeze played with Kaya's hair as she sat quietly in her wheelchair, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a soft, genuine smile. The kids had gathered around her like excited puppies presenting their proudest treasures, each of them holding something in their small hands with the kind of seriousness only kids could manage.
Ninjin stepped forward first, hands clasped around something he guarded like treasure. "Anata no tame ni." he said, shy for once, cheeks slightly red as he opened his palm to reveal a smooth, oval pebble. It glistened in the sun, catching the light like a tiny piece of the moon. "Sore wa watashi no kōun'nōmamoridesu." he spoke giving Kaya the stone. It was his lucky charm.
Kaya leaned forward and took it delicately, like she'd just been handed a royal heirloom. "Sore wa utsukushīdesu." she whispered, running her thumb along the smooth surface. She liked the color.
Ninjin straightened his back like he'd just been knighted.
Tamanegi shuffled forward next. In his hand was a single rice cracker wrapped in a bit of cloth. He hesitated, looked back at the others for courage, then held it out.
"Watashi wa… tada no tabemonoda to wakatte imasu." he muttered. "Demo kore wa watashi no sutokku kara motte kita mono. Dare-tomo kyōyū shi tenai ndesu."
Kaya's eyes softened. She knew. Everyone did. Tamanegi and his snacks were inseparable. The gesture wasn't small. It was massive.
"Kōeidesu." she said sincerely, taking the cracker with both hands. "Arigato. Tamanegi-san."
Then came Piiman, bouncing on his feet with a rolled-up piece of paper clutched tightly in his fist. He practically jumped forward, unfurled it with a dramatic sweep, and held it out like a masterpiece unveiling at a gallery.
It was a drawing. Crayon on paper. The proportions were off, and Usopp's nose was at least three times too big, but the emotion? Spot-on. The fire, the dancing, the laughter. Even the fish—huge and comically exaggerated—was captured mid-leap. Kaya was in the center, laughing. Surrounded by all of them.
"Iro wa amari nakatta." Piiman explained. "Demo watashi wa watashitachi o iro de kaita." Color was a rare resource to find in the village. Still Usopp and the kids did their best to at least color Kaya and themselves.
Kaya traced the picture with her eyes, then her fingers. "Kanpekidesu." It was perfect especially when feelings was poured into the art.
Their chests puffed out with pride, beaming. Even Merry, ever-stoic, let out a sigh so steeped in affection it came out like a quiet chuckle. The kind of sound a father makes when he knows he's lost to something good.
She needed this, and everyone knew it.
A small silence followed, the kind that wasn't awkward but full. Kaya set the gifts in her lap with care, and the kids gathered closer, basking in her smile like sunflowers. I stood just behind them, arms folded, watching it unfold. Peace like this was rare. Soft, undisturbed peace.
But, of course, not everyone appreciated it.
Klahadore stood a few paces behind us. His posture was perfect, as always. His face… not so much. I could feel his glare before I saw it. His stare practically burned a hole into my back.
I knew that look.
That was the look of a man desperately trying not to lose control. He was furious. Not that Kaya was happy—but that she was happy because of people he couldn't manipulate. It gnawed at him.
And so, I did the only thing that made sense to me in that moment.
I turned, locked eyes with him, and gave him the most unholy, mischievous grin I could muster. Something between a child's prank and Anya Forger's most chaotic smirk. My eyes wide, my head tilted, my mouth stretched a little too far.
He didn't take it well.
His jaw tightened. His glasses gleamed sharply, catching the light like knives. I could almost hear the vein in his temple throbbing.
Merry noticed. Of course he did. He glanced between us with that deep, weary look of someone who knew the tension too well. His eyes narrowed slightly—not out of anger, but caution. He didn't want a scene not when kaya was enjoying the peace.
But he also knew. He knew something was off with Klahadore. He could see that from every small fight I had won. The way his posture was too perfect. The way his voice never matched his eyes. The way he always seemed to be performing.
Still, Merry kept silent.
Because that's who he was.
For all I know he was a good guy. At most he would be thinking that Klahadore hated my guts and nothing more. He couldn't bring himself to think of bad things.
He was a good and honest guy. I wasn't.
Usopp stepped forward, stage lights in his eyes even under the sun. The kids backed away in unison, taking up spots behind him like background dancers prepping for a musical.
He dropped to one knee.
Kaya blinked.
Even I stood up a little straighter.
There was a beat of quiet—like the whole courtyard held its breath.
He pulled out a parcel wrapped in the cleanest cloth I'd seen him carry. For a second, I wondered where he'd even gotten it. But then, knowing him, I realized he probably begged the village tailor for a scrap, maybe offered a story in return.
Slowly, carefully, he unwrapped it.
Inside was a necklace.
Simple, but sharp.
It was carved bone—white, curved, and shaped into a soft arc like a crescent wave. It had small notches around the edge, delicate grooves that caught the light. Strung through a leather cord, it swung gently in the breeze.
I recognized it immediately.
The most precious bone of the Marlin.
The same one we pulled from the sea together. The same one that brought the village together for a night of laughter and feasting. That fish had been a celebration.
And now a piece of it would stay with her.
"Jibun de tsukutta nda." Usopp said, scratching the back of his neck. "Sōdesune… nan'ninka tasukete moratta koto wa arimasuga, aidea to gijutsu wa watashi jishin no monodesu." Usopp really was one of a kind. He wanted to capture their moments in the bonfire with his own hands. And his hands and craft gave birth to the necklace.
Kaya looked at it for a long moment. Her lips parted like she might say something, but instead, she just smiled. One of those small, private smiles. The kind you wear when something lands exactly where your heart hoped it would.
"Kiru no o… tetsudatte kuremasen ka?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Usopp's jaw dropped.
The kids gasped in sync.
Merry, for the first time, looked more worried than stoic. Even his stoic face broke.
And me?
I had to fight the urge to punch the sky and yell, "That's my boy!"
Usopp stood up awkwardly, stepped behind her, and with shaking hands, tied the necklace around her neck. His fingers trembled a little, but he managed. When it settled in place, Kaya touched it lightly.
"Sore wa sutekidesune." she said. It really was lovely.
Her eyes met his.
And in that moment—quiet, simple, honest—I saw it.
Connection.
Not forced. Not grandiose.
Just two young souls, finding something kind and real in a world that didn't always give either.
Usopp looked like he was going to explode from happiness. The kids were cheering. Merry sighed again, but there was peace in it. Even Klahadore, in all his forced patience, stepped back. Annoyed and Defeated, for now.
And me?
I just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching it all with a grin on my face.
I taught that boy.
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Kaya smiled with the kind of softness that made sunlight seem dim. It wasn't the kind of smile she wore at formal dinners or the polite curve of her lips when guests visited the mansion. This one was natural—effortless and full of life, like the kind of smile you wear when no one's expecting anything from you.
And Usopp?
That boy was gone. Gone with the wind that carried her scent.
He sat beside her, leaning slightly forward, eyes wide and animated as he gestured with his hands. The story he was spinning didn't matter—some tall tale about him outsmarting a sea king with a spoon and a wet sock—but it didn't have to be believable. Kaya was enraptured anyway. She clung to every word, not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. The spark in his voice. The earnestness behind his wild exaggerations.
Usopp was smitten. Hopelessly.
I could see it clear as day in the way he looked at her—not the way most boys looked at pretty girls, but something more boyish. Pure. He wasn't trying to impress her to win her over. He was just happy she was listening. That was enough for him.
And I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Merry stood not far from the pair, his posture straight as always, but his face gave him away. His eyes shifted constantly between Kaya and Usopp, watching like a worried father seeing his daughter walk too close to a cliff. He wasn't disapproving, not exactly. Just… bracing for something. Like any moment, someone might hurt someone, even unintentionally.
And Klahadore?
Klahadore's face was a mask of cultivated disappointment. The kind you wear when you want everyone to think you're being patient while secretly counting the ways you're going to stab the situation from the shadows. His lips were pressed thin, arms crossed too tightly across his chest. To the untrained eye, he looked like a servant burdened with the awkward presence of a loud village boy—one who called himself a brave man of the sea and shouted about pirates like it was a hobby.
But I knew better.
Klahadore wasn't annoyed at Usopp because of volume or pride. He was furious because Usopp didn't fit in the story he wanted to write for Kaya. The mask he wore was built on lies—that of an uptight caretaker who hated pirates. In truth, he hated people who disrupted his control. And Usopp? Disrupted everything.
Me? If I didn't know any better I would have believed it too.
Lucky for me, I knew the plot. And Klahadore's little villain act wasn't winning any awards today.
The kids—Ninjin, Piiman, and Tamanegi—drifted toward me like little shadows. Usopp must've given them the signal: a quick flick of the hand behind his back, subtle but clear. He wanted a moment alone with Kaya. Smart boy.
I ruffled the trio's hair as they approached, quieting their voices with a soft shush.
They nodded in understanding, and Piiman gave a thumbs-up like it was part of a secret operation.
Merry glanced our way, but when he saw the kids sitting quietly beside me, he relaxed just a little. Still alert, still on guard, but allowing the moment to breathe.
"Klahadore." I said, not loudly, but clearly enough. "Ocha to keishoku."
He turned toward me slowly, one eyebrow raised as if to question whether I had the authority to ask such things.
I didn't.
It wasn't his duty. Technically, it wasn't mine either. I was just a part-time helper around the mansion—someone Kaya trusted, someone Merry tolerated, and someone Klahadore would probably kill if given a chance and no witnesses. But there was a silent hierarchy here. Merry handled Kaya's needs. I floated in and out doing the tasks no one else wanted to. Which meant the smaller, petty jobs?
Well, those fell to Klahadore.
He was smart enough to realize that refusing would make a scene. So instead, he dipped his head slightly—just enough to pass for manners—and walked toward the kitchen with exaggerated grace. His coat fluttered with every calculated step, and he disappeared into the mansion like he was performing a solo on stage. This man had a dramatic flair even when getting snacks and tea.
I didn't care. My attention was on the little lovebirds still figuring themselves out.
Usopp leaned closer now, his voice quieter, his hands moving in smaller, gentler motions. He wasn't bragging anymore. He was telling real stories now. Not about sea kings or treasure chests, but about his mom. About how he used to watch the stars and pretend he was steering a ship. About how sometimes, he shouted "Pirates are coming!" not just to make kids laugh—but because for a second, it made the world feel bigger than it was.
Kaya listened. Really listened. Her hand was folded neatly in her lap, the necklace from the marlin resting against her collarbone. Every so often, she'd laugh quietly, or say something small that made Usopp's face light up.
It wasn't even a grand confession. There were no dramatic declarations. No accidental falls into each other's arms.
Just a boy and a girl sitting in the sun, speaking like no one else existed.
And for a few minutes, we didn't.
I leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes soft.
This wasn't about fate. Or big dreams. Or pirates.
It was about peace. About kindness. About something fragile and real growing in the cracks between louder stories.
And honestly?
This was a story I wished to see in this world.