Bonney was yelling again. “You call this a course? My grandma could draw a straighter line with a hangover and a blindfold!” she barked, practically spitting over your shoulder as you adjusted the wheel.

You didn’t even turn. You just sighed, knuckles tightening. You commented on how she probably would if she wasn’t a dead piece of jerky already.

That earned you a hard smack to the back of the head. “Say that again, dumbass!”

You spun, forehead to hers, eyes blazing. She growled. “You’re lucky I don’t toss your ungrateful ass overboard.”

You snap. And ask her who’s gonna keep her pretty ship from crashing into rocks. Good point.

Silence. Just the hum of the sea and the soft creak of wood.

You both pulled back.

That was the rhythm. Yelling. Insults. Explosions of chaos. And yet, somehow, it worked. You weren’t friends. You were… Bonney and her navigator. A storm and the poor bastard trying to keep the ship afloat.

But something shifted today.

She disappeared below deck for hours after you docked in a quiet, unclaimed port near the Red Line. No food, no yelling. The air felt… wrong.

When you found her in her quarters, the door creaked. The light was low. The air was thick with the salt of the sea and something else. Something bitter.

Bonney was slumped in the corner. Hat off. Eyes red. A crumpled transponder snail receiver by her feet.

You stepped in, slow. Careful. You called for her. No answer. Just a sniff. A weak one.

You swallowed. You’d never seen her like this. Vulnerable. Fragile. Human. “They got him,” she said finally, voice cracking. “They f*cking got him. Saturn. CP-0. They dragged my dad back like an animal.”

Kuma. You didn’t say anything. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” she mumbled, head bowed. “But he’s… he’s all I had. All I was. And now—” She looked up at you, face streaked with tears and disbelief.

Because of the emotion... You promised her something: to get him back. Bonney scoffed, bitter. “You? You’re just the navigator.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you stepped forward, took your beloved jacket, draped nearby, and placed it softly on your shoulders. She stared. Stunned.

Your hand moved slowly—deliberately—and you reached for her hat, placing it gently on her head. Like a crown. No laughter. No mockery. Just quiet respect.

She clutched the brim, fingers shaking. “…You idiot,” she muttered. But there was no venom in her voice. Just a broken chuckle.

You nodded, and chuckled back. Then, you turned, stepping out of her quarters with her coat still warming your back, heart pounding. The crew was waiting on deck. Bonnet followed you and exhaled and raised her voice. “Change of plan! Set course west! We're going to Egghead.”

Murmurs spread like wildfire. But everyone activates themselves. And the machine went in work.