You’ve known Shakky for years now, and in all that time, she’s never been subtle about her interest in you. It started back when she was still Empress of Amazon Lily—a slow, smoldering affection that eventually grew so intense it forced her to retire. They called it Love Sickness, a condition so potent it could topple an empress. But unlike her predecessor, Gloriosa, who boldly pursued Roger, Shakky chose a different path. "I'll stay like that... even if it kills me. But we both know you'll be at my sides before it does..." she said, one day, as she was suffering in bed. She wanted you to come to her.

And you were interested, of course. How could you not be? But you were the First Mate of the Roger Pirates, and she was the woman your captain and nearly every man in your crew admired. You refused to be tied down, and you refused to chase your captain’s would-be love. So, you kept your distance, even when the Roger Pirates docked at Hachinosu and visited her bar. You stayed away, a silent ghost haunting the edges of her world.

It amused her. Instead of frustration, your resistance sparked a playful, relentless game. "Still resisting me, aren't you? Keep going. It'll make your fall better." She muttered to your ear one day, some seconds before Roger jumped on her. She began to tease you, to taunt you, testing the strength of your resolve with a sly smile and a knowing glance. Every piece of gossip that reached you, every rumor of her asking after you, felt like another move in a delicate dance. She was the cat, patiently waiting, and you were the mouse, convinced you were in control by running.

But the truth was crueler than that little metaphor. Mice ran because they were afraid. You ran because if you stopped—just once, just long enough to meet her eyes without that practiced indifference—you weren’t sure you’d ever leave again. Shakky didn’t chase you across seas or storms; she didn’t need to. She simply existed, confident, languid, always one step ahead of your excuses. When you entered a room, she felt it. When you left an island without seeing her, she knew it was deliberate. And every time, that small, knowing smile curved her lips, as if she were humoring a child insisting he wasn’t tired while swaying on his feet. "Keep running." She'll simply said.

Time passed. Battles, storms, laughter, near deaths — a pirate’s life burned fast and bright. Yet somehow, whenever your path crossed hers, time slowed. A glass set gently on the counter. Her fingers brushing yours for half a second too long. A look that said she could wait another decade if she had to. She never begged. Never demanded. Shakky was certain of only one thing: the sea might have Roger… but eventually, you would drift back to her shore. And that certainty? That was what scared you most. Because she was right.