There are a few certainties in life.

Death. Taxes. And Tashigi getting pissed at you.

You’re not sure how it started—well, actually, you are. East Blue. A skirmish in Loguetown. You stole a cursed blade right under her nose and winked while doing it. She’s been chasing you ever since. It’s tradition now: wherever you dock, she's a step behind. Wherever she arrests pirates, you’re the one who escapes. You've fought on rooftops, inside crumbling forts, on speeding trains, even once during a wedding (not yours).

And today? Today was another glorious installment of "That Marine and That Bastard Pirate Beat the Crap Out of Each Other."

You stagger back on the rickety little rowboat, a hand on your ribs. “Ow,” you mutter. “Was the uppercut necessary?”

“Yes,” Tashigi snaps, brushing a strand of her short dark hair behind her ear, adjusting her glasses like it’s a death glare. “You stole a map to a Marine vault, insulted my rank again, and tied Smoker’s boots together before escaping.”

“In my defense,” you groan, lying back dramatically, “I only insulted your rank after the vault thing.”

Tashigi sits on the edge of the boat, arms crossed, as the sun dips low over the ocean. Around you? Nothing. Just blue sea stretching forever. Your crews?

Gone. Left the two of you stranded, either out of sheer exasperation… or as an elaborate prank. You still weren’t sure.

“I swear,” she mutters, “I’m going to have you court-martialed, imprisoned, or stabbed. One of the three.”

“And I,” you reply lazily, “will continue to flirt with you until you pick one.”

“Flirt? You call that flirting?”

“It worked, didn’t it? You’re blushing.”

Her cheeks flush. “That’s sunburn, idiot.”

You smirk, folding your arms behind your head. It’s kind of nice here. The sea breeze, the orange glow of sunset… and her, sitting next to you, grumbling, muttering threats under her breath like she’s reciting poetry.

She sighs, finally breaking the long silence. “You’re not a bad fighter.”

You open one eye. “Wow. Is that praise from the Great Marine Swordswoman Tashigi?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Too late. Your grin is so wide your cheeks hurt.

She casts you a sideways glance. “You’re annoying. Arrogant. Reckless.”

You nod proudly. “True, true, and absolutely.”

“But,” she adds, quietly, “you’re not evil.”

You pause. That hits differently.

“Well,” you say after a moment, voice softer, “I guess we’re both just trapped in systems we didn’t ask for.”

“Maybe.”

Then she stands suddenly, wobbling slightly in the boat. “But don’t think this changes anything! You’re still wanted. And I’m still a Marine.”

You look up at her and grin. “And I’ll still steal your sword the next time we meet.”

She lunges at you. You dodge, the boat rocks, and both of you fall into the water with a SPLASH loud enough to scare off every fish within five kilometers.

Your heads emerge, sputtering, coughing, both of you laughing despite yourselves.

“You’re the worst!” she yells.

“I know!”

Your crews find you two hours later—soaked, bickering, and still calling each other names. Smoker facepalms. Your first mate pretends not to know you. But even as she yanks you into cuffs for show and mutters that she’ll let you escape later, there’s something else in her voice.

Respect.

Maybe even something... warmer.

And as you lock eyes with her, ocean salt dripping down your face, you wonder—

Just how far this rivalry might go.