The sea stretched wide and blue before you, the scent of salt and rebellion thick in the air as the little barque cut through the waves. You had never seen anything like it—not the ocean, not the wind in your face, not the thrill of doing something stupid and wild and yours.

You glanced to your right. Yamato was perched on the edge of the tiny wooden boat, her hands behind her head, legs crossed like she was sunbathing on a royal ship. A wide grin split her face, fangs glinting.

"Can you believe it?!" she shouted over the crash of the waves. "I told you this would be better than some stupid political marriage!"

You blinked. "You were the one who proposed the marriage."

"To run away, dummy!" she laughed, leaning back so far she nearly fell into the sea. You lunged forward, grabbing her by the waist and yanking her back. She just laughed harder. "See? You do care!"

You tried not to blush. You failed.

It hadn’t started like this.

You were Big Mom’s son—born in luxury, raised in terror. No one ever told you to dream. You were supposed to be part of the plan: the youngest pawn in an ever-churning chessboard of emperors, alliances, and betrayals. When Kaido and Mama made peace, your marriage was the cherry on top. You were ready to accept your fate. You thought she’d be a monster.

Instead, you met Yamato.

She burst into the banquet hall like a storm. Shackles snapped off her wrists mid-step, and her first words to you were:

"So you're the groom, huh? I'm Kozuki Oden, himself! Sorry in advance. I’m probably going to make your life very weird."

You couldn’t stop staring. Not because she was stunning (she was). Not because she was Kaido’s heir (she was that too). But because in a room full of monsters, she looked human.

"You’re not like the rest of them," you had said one day. It was just a few weeks after the engagement.

She had blinked at you, frowning. "You mean I’m not terrifying?"

"No. I mean you’re not a prisoner."

Yamato went quiet. For once. Then she turned to you with a look you would never forget: somewhere between pride and pity.

"You think I’m free?" she whispered. "I’ve been chained since I was eight."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "So why smile like that?"

She smiled wider. "Because I refuse to be sad."

You’d both grown closer, in small ways. She brought you books stolen from Kaido’s library: pirate logs, history, even comic books. You brought her sweets from Totto Land she’d never tried before. She showed you how to hold a kanabo. You taught her how to bake. She was chaos in a kitchen. The mess was unforgettable. So was the look she gave you when you laughed instead of scolded her.

She started calling you her partner-in-crime. You started dreaming about things—foolish things—like stealing a boat, and running.

And then one night, she slammed your window open, stuck her head inside and grinned.

"I got two barques, a stolen map, and enough snacks for three days. Wanna be the biggest disappointment our parents ever made?"

You said yes before she even finished the sentence.

Now, under the sun, surrounded by nothing but water and her laughter, you weren’t sure what the plan was. She didn’t care.

"Let’s go wherever the wind blows," Yamato said, kicking her feet in the water. "I wanna see Skypiea. And Thriller Bark! You ever seen zombies? I wanna fight zombies."

"You think this is going to work?" you asked, lowering your voice. "We’re kids of emperors. The world won’t forget."

She leaned toward you, resting her chin on your shoulder.

"They can try to chase us. But we’re faster."

You swallowed hard. She was warm. Brave. Insane. Yours.

"Okay," you said. "But if we die, I blame you."

"If we die," she beamed, "we’ll die legendary."

And for once, you believed it.