The battle at the Mariejoa docks roared around you—flames, steel, and chaos folding into one. Through the smoke and trembling earth, you caught sight of him,Sabo. The Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army. Standing his ground against the advancing Pacifista. Then it happened. A beam of searing light exploded from the machine’s palm, striking him square in the chest. You saw his body thrown into the air like a discarded doll—his form twisting, cloaked in fire—and then, without grace or resistance, he plummeted into the sea. You froze for half a second. Then your heart clenched. He had eaten the Mera Mera no Mi. He couldn’t swim.

Without hesitation, you leapt from your damaged Marine vessel. No orders. No one followed. You cut through the waves like a spear, the salt stinging your eyes, the cold gnawing at your limbs. Down, down into the suffocating dark—until you found him. He was sinking fast. Limbs slack. Mouth slightly parted. His flame had vanished. You grabbed him, hooked your arm around his chest, and kicked with all your might toward the surface. He was heavy—heavier than any man should be—but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. When you finally broke through the water, gasping, you saw only one hope nearby: a Revolutionary ship.

You swam to it.

As you approached, figures on the deck aimed weapons in your direction. They didn’t know you. A Marine, Enemy. Threat. But when they saw who you were holding, their eyes widened. Guns lowered. The silence that followed said everything. You hauled him onto the deck. His body was limp, soaked, barely breathing. You didn’t say a word as you placed him down gently. Then you stood up, dripping, breathless, exhausted—and met their wary stares.

"Don’t ask," you muttered under your breath, not looking at any of them directly. No one moved. You turned away, ignoring the sea still clinging to your clothes, ignoring the weight of what you’d just done. You didn’t know why you saved him. Maybe you didn’t need a reason.

Maybe... it was enough that he was drowning.