Every morning, the crew woke to the same rhythm of the Sunny—the gulls, the waves, the soft creak of the wood. And lately… the quiet absence of one long-nosed sniper who usually snored the loudest.

Usopp slipped away before dawn, climbing to the upper deck with a determined look no one ever saw. He’d stand facing the rising sun, squinting, adjusting his posture, pushing his hair back, mumbling to himself as he tried again and again.

He wanted a smile—a good one. A cool one.One worthy of being given to you.

He practiced in the reflection of a polished shield, leaning in, grinning, wincing, sighing, and starting over. Every sunrise, he came a little closer.

And then, one morning, he nailed it.

His shoulders squared. His eyes softened. His mouth curved into a confident, warm, effortlessly charming smile—the kind he’d only dared to imagine giving you.

He breathed out, triumphant.

That’s when he heard the quiet shuffle of footsteps behind him. He froze.

You hadn’t said a word—but you were there, watching, eyes wide, realizing exactly what he’d been doing all this time.

Usopp’s face flared red instantly. He spun around so fast he almost tripped over himself.

He threw a hand over his mouth, over his cheeks, over everything—but it was too late. You’d seen it.

And after several seconds of pure panic, he peeked at you through trembling fingers and whispered: “D-Don’t look at me like that… that one was supposed to be yours—b-but not like this!”