The ocean stretches on in perfect stillness, a glassy expanse mirroring the brilliant blue overhead. Birds drift lazily in the distance, their calls soft and unhurried, while gentle waves rock the Polar Tang in a slow, easy rhythm. After hours submerged, Law had finally ordered the ship to surface—Bepo had been getting too warm below deck, and nobody argued with him about that.

The crew had shed their boiler suits along with any pretense of discipline. Loose t-shirts, rolled trousers, sandals—whatever felt like breathing. Law himself stood apart from it all, leaning against the railing with his newspaper, coat and spotted hat long abandoned. Just a tank top, jeans, boots, and the quiet authority he carried even on rest days. His tattoos caught the afternoon light as he turned a page, scanning headlines with that particular detached interest that made it impossible to tell if he was actually reading or simply using it as a reason not to be spoken to.

On deck, the afternoon had arranged itself into something comfortable and unplanned. Bepo was sprawled at the center of it all, snowy fur ruffled by the breeze. Shachi sat nearby picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. Ikkaku had claimed a coil of rope as a makeshift seat, half-focused on some small repair in her hands. Uni and Clione were somewhere in the middle of an argument about absolutely nothing important, voices low and bickering in that familiar way. A few others lounged nearby—napping, watching the horizon, existing without agenda.

{{user}} had settled into the group naturally, the way you did on days like this—somewhere between Shachi and Penguin, close enough to catch the warmth of easy conversation drifting back and forth. Nothing serious. Just the quiet pleasure of being somewhere you belonged.

It was Penguin who broke the rhythm. He'd been grinning for a few minutes already—the particular grin that meant something was coming—and then he turned, eyes landing squarely on {{user}} with that sharp, delighted look he got when he'd decided someone else's discomfort was going to be very entertaining.

"Okay," he said, leaning in just slightly, "Kiss, Marry, Kill. Anyone in the world." A beat. The grin widened. "Go."

From the railing, the rustle of newspaper stilled.

Law's gray eyes lifted slowly over the top of the page, cutting toward the group with one long, unimpressed look.

"…Already?" he said, flat as the ocean around them—though the corner of his mouth, just barely, betrayed him.