Meanwhile, on a luxurious passenger ship not far off the coast…
Makoto reappeared silently on the upper deck, surveying the scene. His expression shifted to a smug grin as he locked onto something—or rather, someone.
The deck was lively with upper-class passengers dancing under lantern light, sipping expensive wine, and enjoying soft music. Makoto didn't fit in at all: shirt half-open, hair messy like he'd been mugged by a pillow, and barefoot for some reason.
He didn't care.
He walked right through the crowd like he owned the ocean.
And there she was: an orange-haired girl in a sleek dress, standing near the bar. Short hair, confident posture. playful eyes.
Makoto approached her without hesitation.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, voice smooth—well, as smooth as someone who looked like he crawled out of a barrel could sound.
Nami gave him a lightning-fast once-over. Disheveled. Not rich. Possibly deranged.
She smiled politely.
"I'm sorry, but I already have a partner," she lied easily, dismissing him like a fly on her wine glass.
"…"
Makoto froze.
He stared at her, stunned. His confidence—built on an unshakable (and highly delusional) belief in his god-tier charm—cracked audibly.
She turned away like he was a waiter who got her order wrong.
"Miss, wait, please," Makoto called, following her casually. No malice in his voice. Just that faint lilt—something that said: I'm about to ruin your evening.
Nami sighed and turned, annoyance flickering across her face. "I already told you that I have a partn—"
She froze.
Makoto held up a very familiar, very overstuffed wallet between two fingers, casually twirling it like a toy. Her wallet. The one she definitely pickpocketed earlier tonight.
"I just wanted to tell you that you dropped your wallet," Makoto said slowly, voice laced with mock sincerity. "But if you don't need it…"
He tilted it slightly. A few beri notes peeked out, whispering embarrassment.
People around them turned. The music didn't stop, but the chatter hushed enough for whispers to rise. All eyes locked on Nami.
Her expression twisted. "That's mine," she snapped, reaching for the wallet.
Makoto pulled it back just out of reach, still smiling.
"Oh, I know. You dropped it… right after you reached into one of these gentlemen's coats and helped yourself."
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the crowd. "Wait—that's mine!"
A few nobles gasped. Someone spilled wine. The music faltered.
Nami's eyes narrowed to slits. "You bastard—"
"Thief, liar, and rude," Makoto replied, stepping closer. He leaned in, letting his words drip like venom.
"You should've accepted my offer," he whispered coldly. "I could've saved your miserable little life."
Nami's breath caught—part anger, part confused.
Then someone shouted from the crowd, "Guards! She stole that man's wallet!"
Panic rippled through the room. Two uniformed guards began pushing through the crowd toward her.
But before they could reach her, another voice screamed from the top of the staircase:
"PIRATES! Alvida's pirates! They're attacking—EVERYONE RUN!"
As the words left his mouth, the ship shook violently—a cannonball slammed into the starboard side, splintering wood and flinging guests off their feet.
Screams tore through the ballroom. Guests scattered. Wine glasses shattered on marble floors. Chaos bloomed like wildfire.
In the middle of it all, Makoto just smiled.
While everyone panicked, ducked, or fled, he slipped silently through the frenzy—moving like smoke. Unseen. Unbothered.
Moments later, he was already aboard the enemy ship.
The Miss Love Duck, Alvida's vessel, rocked with motion and the sound of laughter and looting. Makoto stepped across the deck like it was his private yacht. No one noticed. No one ever did—unless he wanted them to.
He strolled down to the lower deck, into the ship's dimly lit storage room.
Amid crates of loot and barrels of wine, he found an old, empty barrel tucked in the back.
He knocked on it once. Hollow.
With a calm sigh, he climbed inside and pulled the lid shut.
"Perfect," he muttered, as if hiding in barrels on pirate ships was just part of the plan.