Nami stormed into the galley, her orange hair damp and clinging to her shoulders as water dripped from the hem of her shirt onto the floor. Her white blouse was completely soaked, plastered to her skin, outlining every curve with an almost scandalous precision. She looked irritated, muttering under her breath as she pulled at the fabric clinging stubbornly to her chest.

"Ugh, this is ridiculous," she grumbled, tugging at the neckline of her shirt as if it would somehow magically loosen. ”Of all days for Sanji to drag his feet on the laundry..."

She glanced down at herself, her frustration growing. "Why does this stupid shirt have to cling like this? It's like it's trying to strangle me or something. And don’t even get me started on these..." She gestured vaguely toward her chest, scowling.

"Carrying these things around all day is bad enough," she muttered, pulling the shirt away from her body, only for it to snap back into place. "Now they’re practically on display, and there’s nothing I can do about it."