Breezes, seas, and sunrise.
A faint mist cloaked the world, the dawn's rays piercing thin clouds, scattering across the ocean in shimmering waves.
On the vast blue sea, early-rising gulls squawked ceaselessly. Now and then, a bird dove like a fighter jet, snatching a fish and soaring away. But even elite warriors fumble—some unlucky gulls never resurfaced.
Probably didn't check the almanac before heading out, Sora mused.
Though not a rare spectacle, for Sora's freshly embarked crew, it was thrilling enough.
Creak!
The wooden cabin door groaned, startling gulls grooming on the deck.
A chubby figure in a white chef's outfit, glasses perched on his nose, emerged, balancing a tray with two glasses of juice. Spotting Sora lounging on a deckchair at the bow, he hurried over, setting the juice on a nearby table.
"Sora, try my lemon-apple juice," he said.
"Mm, thanks, Ahua," Sora replied, setting down his navigation book and offering a warm nod.
Suddenly, a head with a spiky, punk hairstyle popped over the crow's nest's edge, shouting, "Ahua, where's my juice?"
Ahua pushed up his glasses, glaring up calmly. "In the kitchen. Get it yourself. Think you're Sora or Kuina, expecting me to serve you?"
"You're the cook! Your job's to pamper us fighters!" the punk youth retorted, sliding down the mast to the main deck, taunting loudly.
Ahua's forehead veins bulged. Charging at the leather-pants-clad punk, he yelled, "Alo, you looking for a fight?"
He'd vowed to stay mature and calm at sea, but Alo's constant provocations shattered his resolve.
A sausage-lipped youth in denim, sporting a cowboy hat, stepped out from the second-floor cabin. Hurrying down the stairs, he pulled the two apart.
"You two bicker every day! Childhood squabbles weren't enough—now at sea, you still can't chill?" he said.
"Stay out of it, Ata," Ahua snapped, rolling up his sleeves. "Today, I'll show this guy who's the ship's second-strongest!"
Ata sighed, exasperated.
Fighting for second-to-last? Why not challenge Kuina?
Speak of Kuina, and she appeared.
Wearing a pink kimono and slippers, Kuina ascended from the cabin stairs, her deep blue hair still damp. Wiping it, she walked past Ahua and Alo, casting them a fleeting glance.
That single look froze the trio in place.
Alo and Ahua, moments ago butting heads, now stood shoulder-to-shoulder, feigning camaraderie like best buds.
They feared no one—not each other, not even Sora—but Kuina? She'd beaten them into submission growing up, leaving deep scars. Without Zoro's arrival, their plight might've been worse.
Only when Kuina reached the bow did they exhale, wiping phantom sweat.
Realizing they were still arm-in-arm, Alo and Ahua recoiled in disgust, leaping apart. Glaring, they snorted, spat on the deck, and turned away.
"Ugh!"
"Pfft!"
Ata shook his head. I'm the ship's third-best, and I don't get this much drama.
Pulling a cigarette pack from his pocket, he lit one, took a deep drag, and blew a suave smoke ring. Chin high, he strutted past the duo toward the cabin.
Juice? Smells good. Sweet-tart, delicious.
Sora lounged, swirling his glass, sipping with a smile. Watching the trio's antics, he chuckled.
Ahua had a knack for cooking. His love for food kept him chubby, despite his father sending him to the dojo. Two years ago, he inherited the family diner, becoming a renowned local chef.
When Sora first invited him to sail, Ahua balked. Good food and comfort at home—why suffer at sea? It took Kuina's "persuasion" to change his mind. The next day, bruised and teary, Ahua begged to join.
Poor guy. Sora had "accidentally" mentioned the idea to Kuina, knowing she'd handle it. Smirking at the memory, he felt a twinge of pride.
As for Alo, who knows what turned him into a punk? Love, maybe? He'd been set to marry per family plans but ditched it when he heard Sora was sailing. Dragging Ata—poised to inherit his family's shipyard and live as a playboy—Alo sought out Koshiro.
Sora, then scrambling for a ship, saw their arrival as a godsend. He agreed instantly. Not just for old friends, but Ata's shipwright skills and his family's discounted ship? Jackpot.
Sora spent all his and Kuina's savings, plus a loan of millions of beri from Koshiro, to cover the ship's cost—even at Ata's material-only price.
A transmigrator borrowing money for a ship? Sora mentally apologized to his transmigrator predecessors. I've shamed the guild.
The ship was a swift sloop with a triangular mizzen sail and a central stern rudder, its prow a goat's head. Why a goat? To echo the Merry Go, of course! Every One Piece fan dreamed of their own Merry. Sora even added a lemon tree orchard on deck, swapping oranges for lemons.
The deck rose to a two-story cabin: the first floor housed the kitchen, the second the helm and lounge. Bedrooms, storage, and bathrooms were below deck.
Like the Merry, it lacked a wheel, steered by lever-controlled rudder boards. Sora skipped most cannons—useless up close, outranged by his slashes—installing only one large bow cannon. This saved space and weight, boosting speed and agility.
The front cabin held the cannon, anchor winch, and essential sea gear.
Sora scanned the ship, musing. Lookout: Alo. Helmsman and repairman: Ata. Cook: Ahua.
Navigator? That was him. Years of devouring navigation books weren't for nothing. He couldn't match Nami's genius, but he was confident against most natural disasters. Plus, his spatial domain, now spanning twenty meters, could lift the ship to fly.
What's missing?
His eyes lit up. A doctor!
(End of the Chapter)
Translator's Note: and a... Musician~!