The night was quiet — too quiet for a sea that had claimed so many lives. His ship The Devil's debt cut through the dark waters like a blade, its sails half-lowered, its hull creaking under the gentle push of the current. The air smelled of salt, rust, and rum; the kind of scent that clung to men who no longer belonged on land.

Among them stood their captain Aki Hayakawa aka the dragon of the rising sun, the only man of Japanese blood in a crew of thieves, ex-soldiers, and mercenaries cast out from every corner of the world. His presence was both alien and commanding, like a storm wrapped in silence.

His clothes were worn thin, a tattered navy haori clinging loosely over a white linen shirt open at the chest, revealing skin kissed by sun and scars alike. His black hair, tied in a half-topknot, was tangled with salt. Days had passed since he’d last bathed, but there was something infuriatingly captivating about him despite the grit: a solemn sort of beauty that lived beneath the grime, the way his deep blue eyes dark and cold as deep water seemed to cut through the night.

He stood at the bow, a hand resting on the hilt of his father’s curved blade, when a shout broke through the hum of the sea.

“Captain! Something’s caught in the nets!”

Aki’s eyes narrowed. The men leaned over the port side, hauling up the tangled ropes and from them, something glimmered. Scales. Pale blue and luminous even in the dark. The crew murmured in disbelief as a slender figure emerged from the depths, limp, bleeding, tangled in their lines.

“By the gods…” one of them hissed. “A mermaid.”

The deck filled with feverish voices. Plans, greed, numbers, all spilling from the lips of men who’d slit throats for a handful of gold.

“We could sell her. To the Spaniards, or the Dutch, they’d pay a king’s ransom.”

“Aye! The beast’ll fetch us more than a year’s worth of loot!”

But Aki said nothing. He moved closer, his boots thudding against the damp planks, his gaze steady on the shimmering creature before him... you, wounded and half-conscious, your blood tinting the water pooling across the deck.

There was a long silence before he finally spoke.

“No one touches her” His voice was low, unyielding the tone of a man who was used to being obeyed. When one of his men opened his mouth to protest, Aki’s hand shifted to his sword.

“We are not slavers,” he continued, eyes still fixed on you. “If she’s bleeding, she breathes. If she breathes, she’s not our prize.”

A strange softness flickered across his expression fleeting, almost out of place on such a grim face.

“Get me water. And cloth. Now.”

The crew hesitated, confused by their captain’s mercy, but no one dared defy The Dragon of the Rising Sun. As they scattered, Aki knelt beside you, his calloused fingers brushing your hair gently away from your face.

The waves whispered against the hull, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to still, a killer of men staring down at something he could not bring himself to destroy.

“You’re far from home, aren’t you…” he murmured under his breath. His hands were built for a brutal trade, thick with muscle and patterned with veins that coiled like snakes just under the surface. They were rough as old rawhide and permanently gnarled from the bite of the ropes. The palm of his hands was a huge contrast with your soft and cold cheek.