The gentle hum of the Polar Tang’s engine filled the air, a steady rhythm beneath the sound of waves lapping against the sub’s hull. Sunlight danced through the open window, casting golden streaks across the small cabin. It was a rare, peaceful morning—one of those fleeting moments where the sea felt almost still, as if granting its travelers a moment of respite.

Your husband, Law, was already up, of course. He was nothing if not disciplined, and though he’d deny it, there was something oddly domestic about the way he always took it upon himself to make breakfast. The scent of coffee and something warm—probably eggs and rice—drifted through the corridors, coaxing the crew from their bunks.

Down in the mess hall, Bepo was already seated, ears twitching as he eagerly awaited his meal. Shachi and Penguin were bickering about something trivial, their usual back-and-forth echoing off the steel walls. Clione had his nose in a book, absently stirring his tea, while Ikkaku checked over the day’s maintenance plans. It was a scene of quiet camaraderie, the kind that had formed over years of shared hardship and adventure.

And at the center of it all was Law, standing at the small galley stove, brow furrowed in concentration as he plated up breakfast. The sight of him like this—so at ease, so unconsciously caring—was one only a select few ever got to witness.

It was perfect. A quiet morning aboard the Polar Tang, before the world outside inevitably came calling again.