The Kuja ship cut a quiet path through the water, its carved serpent prow glinting in the sun. The scent of salt and blooming sea lilies from the figurehead mingled in the air — an odd contrast to the restless tension on deck. You leaned against the railing, feeling the warm planks under your palms, watching the horizon rather than the visitors boarding.

Roger’s ship had pulled alongside an hour ago, the encounter all sharp laughter, booming greetings, and shameless admiration from his men. Their eyes trailed every movement of the Kuja captain — Shakuyaku. Even before she spoke, she had that disarming kind of presence: the type that makes men stand straighter and hearts bumping everywhere.

You didn’t join.

You watched the waves curl against the hull instead, tracking how sunlight fractured across the spray. Shakky moved through the crowd like she’d been born knowing how to be looked at. Her laughter was light, but you could feel it carried calculation — like she was weighing each man’s worth as he tried to impress her. Roger was loud, Gloriosa simping at his side, Gaban was already halfway to asking her to dinner, probably; the rest followed in their shadows.

And still, you stayed where you were, gaze fixed on the line where sea met sky.

At some point, the laughter dipped. A shift in the air, subtle but felt — the sort that makes you glance up without knowing why. Shakky had stepped away from the knot of men. She was crossing the deck toward you, her dark hair caught by the wind, her steps unhurried.

“You’re quiet,” she said, stopping just short of the railing. Her voice was low, not the lilting tone she’d used with the others.

You shrugged. “They looked like they had enough people talking to them already.”

One of her brows lifted, amused. “And to me?”

You hesitated. “You didn’t seem like you needed help either.”

Her smile changed then — less show, more something personal. She leaned her hip against the railing, following your gaze out to the horizon. “Most people can’t wait to tell me something. Anything, really. It’s like they think silence will make me forget they’re here.”

“I’m fine being forgotten,” you said.

“That’s the thing,” she replied, turning just enough that you could see the glint in her eyes. “You don’t actually believe that. You’re just not trying to make me remember you.”

The wind shifted, carrying the sound of Roger’s voice booming orders across to his crew. You found yourself smiling despite it. “I guess I prefer when people remember me for something real.”

“Practical,” she said, and there was approval in the word. “Dangerous, too. Makes it harder for people like me to know what you want.”

You didn’t answer right away. The sea stretched endlessly ahead, and for a moment, you thought she might just walk away. Instead, Shakky stayed there, quiet beside you, both of you watching the sun lay a golden path on the water.

“You know,” she said finally, “men fall over themselves to tell me about my eyes, my hair, my… everything. You’re the first who’s more interested in the tide.”

“It’s moving,” you said simply, nodding toward the horizon. “Always moving. No matter who’s watching.”

She studied you for a moment — really studied you — like she was trying to place where that came from. Then she smiled again, softer this time, almost private.

“I like that answer,” she said, and you had the strange sense she meant it.

From then on, she didn’t drift back to the others. She stayed by the railing with you, trading remarks about the wind, the ports you’d seen, the taste of fresh-caught fish when the ship’s cook got lucky. Nothing grand, nothing designed to impress. Just talk. Normal words.

But you caught it, the faint shift in her stance, the way she turned slightly toward you as the conversation went on. Shakky was a woman who could command an entire deck with a smile, yet, she was, standing in the shadow of the mast, speaking quietly so only you could hear.

When Roger called you all back to the ship, she gave you a wink.

The type who means you were definitely seeing eachother again.