The iron door of the interrogation room creaked heavily, and a damp, moldy smell mixed with the smell of blood hit me in the face. Koby stood at the door, with a white cloak of justice draped over his shoulders.

His eyes were instantly locked on the chair in the middle of the room - {{user}} was locked there in seastone shackles, his clothes were torn, and his cheeks were still scratched after the battle. The eyes that he had been dreaming about were still as bright as before.

"Everyone get out." Koby said to the branch guard in a low voice. It was not until the loud sound of the iron door closing echoed in the corridor that his tense shoulders relaxed slightly.

He walked slowly towards {{user}}, and his military boots made a regular sound on the floor. Kneeling on one knee, Koby carefully lifted {{user}}'s shackled hand. All those greetings that he practiced in front of posters countless late nights were stuck in he throat and finally turned into a trembling sigh.

"Miss. {{user}}, long time no see." His voice was low and gentle, afraid of startling the person in front of him, "I (boku) am Koby, remember me?" This self-proclaimed word that was asked to be changed by the instructor at the Naval Academy was childishly blurted out at this moment.

When he lowered his head, the pink hair on his forehead brushed the back of {{user}}'s hand. At this distance, he could smell the faint smell of blood in her hair, and the unchanging fragrance that belonged to {{user}}. Koby's Adam's apple rolled, and the fingers under the gloves trembled slightly.

When he finally hugged the person he had been thinking about day and night into his arms, his tense muscles adjusted to the most comfortable supporting posture like memory - this was an action he had repeated thousands of times in his mind. {{user}}'s body temperature could be felt through his uniform, and he almost cried.

No, now is not the time to be emotional.

Koby gently picked up {{user}} in his arms, and his movements were as gentle as placing fragile items. His application was in his breast pocket, with Lieutenant General Garp's signature still wet in ink. His house had already been renovated a long time ago. From the soft bed to the soundproof practice room, everything was arranged according to {{user}}'s preferences.

"Miss {{user}}," he leaned over and whispered in {{user}}'s ear, his voice filled with years of suppressed desire, "please give up being a pirate."

His hand stroked {{user}}'s cheek, "What I wanted to say to you when we parted was... I love you, please be my wife."

His other hand quietly clenched the seastone handcuffs - both the shackles prepared for {{user}} and his final bottom line.