Archive of Our Own

The Straw Hats. Two of them. Here. On the deck.

The sight sent Kakahira’s stomach into freefall.

"Lieutenant Kakahira," Ensign Mako said cautiously from behind him.

"What is it, Mako?" Kakahira asked, keeping his voice level.

Mako hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly before blurting out, "It’s about the prisoners on the deck, sir. They say it’s Strawhat Luffy and Nami the Cat Burglar. Do you think it’s really them?"

Kakahira didn’t answer right away, instead watching the distant waves as if they held a solution. The news of the capture had been impossible to avoid, spreading like wildfire among the crew. Everyone with two braincells to rub together was thinking the exact same thing- the ship was effectively carrying two ticking time bombs.

"Do you think..." Mako trailed off, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you think they’ll really hold them? I mean, they’re—"

"They’re our prisoners," Kakahira interrupted, sharper than he intended. The words tasted hollow. "That’s all that matters right now."

Mako flinched at the tone but wisely kept quiet. Smart kid. Loyal, too. Kakahira turned briefly to glance at his squad, clustered nearby as they worked to secure crates and equipment. They were good men, better than this ship deserved. They deserved better leadership than Darvo or Feston could ever provide.

The weight of that thought settled heavily in his chest. His gaze lingered on Mako for a moment, noting the way the younger Marine stood stiffly beside him, face pale. Kakahira’s chest tightened as he exchanged a brief, silent glance with him.

“They’re really going through with this,” Mako whispered under his breath, his voice trembling. “Do you think they know who they’re messing with?”

“Quiet,” Kakahira hissed. He darted a nervous glance at Davrvo, who was leering at the prisoners. The Captains paunch strained against his uniform as he folded his arms across his chest, medals clinking. Darvo hadn’t earned those medals—he had inherited his rank through his father’s influence, a fact every Marine aboard knew but dared not say aloud.

Still, the Captains cruelty was genuine.

The Captain strutted down the stairs from the quarterdeck, his boots thudding against the planks as he approached the prisoners. He gestured sharply at a few of his men, who stepped forward with their muskets raised. The weapons weren’t necessary—both Strawhats were bound with enough seastone to subdue an entire pirate crew despite the fact only the captain had a devil fruit, and she was the only one even conscious.

“Bring me the girl,” Darvo ordered, snapping his fingers.

Two marines grabbed Nami by her arms and yanked her to her feet. She grunted in pain, her head lolling forward as her strength gave out momentarily. But when she lifted her face, her glare burned hotter than the sun. Her lips twisted into a smirk that, somehow, even through the blood and dirt, oozed confidence.

“You think this is going to end well for you?” she said, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “You don’t have a clue what you’re dealing with.”

Darvo chuckled, a deep, phlegmy sound that made Kakahira’s teeth clench. “Oh, I think I do, sweetheart,” he said, leaning in close. “You’re pirates. The scum of the sea. And by the time we’re through, you’ll beg for the gallows.”

Nami spat at his boots, the glob of blood-tinged saliva landing squarely on the polished leather. Darvo froze for a moment, then lashed out with the back of his hand, striking her hard across the face. Her head snapped to the side, but she didn’t cry out.

His division exchanged uneasy glances. None of them moved. None of them dared.

Kakahira gritted his teeth as Darbo struck her again across the face with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling to the deck. The other Marines erupted into laughter, banging their weapons against the railing. The cacophony was deafening, but Kakahira’s division stood silently at the edge of the commotion, their expressions taut with unease.

“This is madness,” Mako muttered. “When the rest of the crew comes for them—because you know they will—we’re going to be the ones they rip apart. Why aren’t we saying anything?”

“Do you want to be flogged?” Kakahira snapped in a hushed tone. “Or worse?” He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He hated this. Every moment of it. But what could he do? A single lieutenant couldn’t stand against a commodore—not one with Darvo's connections. And certainly not for pirates.

The booming sound of Captain Darvo’s voice shattered the fragile calm.

“Lieutenant Kakahira!” Darvo barked from the quarterdeck, his tone carrying a familiar but no less grating mix of impatience and self-importance.

Kakahira turned, watching the portly captain strut across the deck, his polished boots clicking against the planks. Despite the sweat gathering under his over-embellished Marine coat, Darvo moved with the exaggerated energy of someone desperate to be noticed.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Darvo continued, his round face flushed. “You’ve been working so diligently up here while our prizes sit below deck. Don’t you think it’s time you paid your respects?”

Kakahira’s jaw tightened. “I was ensuring the crew’s efficiency, sir,” he said evenly.

“And very commendable of you,” Darvo replied with a magnanimous wave of his hand. “But this is no ordinary day, Lieutenant. The Straw Hats! Right here on our ship! A moment worth savoring.”

Kakahira didn’t need to look to know his men were bristling at Darvo’s pompous tone. He was ready to punch the man himself. Still, he saluted crisply. “Of course, sir.”

Darvo grinned as if he’d won a victory and gestured for Kakahira to follow him. Commander Feston, already waiting at the stairwell, gave Kakahira a sharp, predatory grin. “Better hurry, Lieutenant,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the show.”

The air in the lower deck was thick and damp, the shadows stretching long under flickering lantern light. Marines stood in clusters near the cell, their postures stiff, hands twitching toward weapons as they whispered nervously among themselves.

Kakahira’s gaze swept the room before settling on the prisoners in the middle cell.

There they were.

Luffy sat slumped against the wall, his arms bound in thick sea-stone shackles. His hair was matted with blood, a deep gash across his temple leaking crimson down the side of his face. His straw hat, scuffed and battered, lay discarded on the floor just outside the cell, as if mocking his current state. He looked battered and exhausted, yet his eyes were wide open and gleamed with an intensity that made Kakahira’s stomach tighten

Beside him, Nami knelt with her wrists bound in front of her, her orange hair damp and clinging to her face. Her clothes were torn, revealing bruises that mottled her pale skin. Despite her injuries, there was a cold sharpness in her gaze as it flicked across the room, cataloging everything.

Darbo stood in front of them, flanked by two of his lieutenants. He sneered at the prisoners, his hands clasped behind his back in a mockery of authority.

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” Dargan said, his voice oily with triumph. “The great Monkey D. Luffy and his loyal navigator, Nami, reduced to this.”

Neither pirate replied. Luffy’s grin widened, and Namis glare grew sharper.

Darvo’s smile faltered for a moment before he barked a laugh. “You’ll change your tune soon enough. When we deliver you to Marine Headquarters, I’ll be the one they commend. And you two will be executed like the dogs you are.Thanks to my strategic brilliance, of course.”

Kakahira’s lips tightened. Strategic brilliance? Darvo had swooped in at the last moment to claim credit for an ambush orchestrated by another fleet, something he'd only learned within the last few hours after being told by someone who'd personally been there. But calling out his captain’s lies would accomplish nothing except getting himself demoted—or worse.

“And this one,” Darvo continued, turning his attention to Nami, “the cunning Cat Burglar. Such a delicate thing for someone so dangerous. Perhaps we should—”

“That’s enough,” Kakahira said sharply.

The room went silent. Darvo turned, his face twitching in irritation. “What did you say, Lieutenant?”

Kakahira stepped forward, his expression calm but his tone cutting. “Perhaps you should rest, Captain. After all, capturing these pirates must have taken a great deal out of you.”

Darvo’s chest puffed up, his indignation battling against the allure of retreat. “I’m perfectly capable of—”

“Of course you are, sir,” Kakahira said smoothly, but not able to bring himself to smile even fakely. “But the men need you at full strength. You’ve done so much already.”

The flattery worked, as he knew it would. Darvo huffed, adjusting his ridiculous hat. “Very well. See to it that they don’t cause any trouble, Lieutenant. Commander Feston, come with me.”

Feston lingered, his gaze sweeping over Kakahira with a knowing smirk. “Careful, Lieutenant,” he murmured. “The pirates aren’t the only ones you should watch your back around.”

Kakahira met Feston’s gaze evenly. “Duly noted, Commander.”

Once they were gone, the oppressive atmosphere lightened fractionally, and Kakahira turned sharply on his heel to his men, still stationed near the exits. “Return to your posts. This is no longer your concern. And get someone down here to clean their wounds. No one else touches them without my explicit order.” The Marines hesitated, their gazes flicking nervously between Kakahira and the prisoners before they finally saluted and filed out.

The dim light of the oil lamp cast flickering shadows over Kakahira’s cramped quarters, its faint glow barely illuminating the stack of reports spread across his desk. The room smelled of ink and salt, the air thick with the oppressive humidity that seeped into every corner of the ship. Outside, the sea groaned softly, the occasional creak of the ship’s timbers punctuating the stillness.

Kakahira hunched over the desk, his pen scratching against the parchment as he filled out yet another requisition form. It was tedious, mind-numbing work: cataloging damaged supplies, adjusting ration distributions, and tallying the ammunition count. The crew of the Horizon’s Wrath was terribly under-equipped for combat, a fact that gnawed at him with every entry he made.

He set down the pen with a sigh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. His mind was already wandering—back to the two prisoners chained below deck. It was impossible to push the sight of them from his thoughts. Luffy’s blood-matted hair, the rage simmering in Nami’s bruised face. They were pirates, yes, but not like the ones he was used to dealing with. These two were infamous, their names whispered across the seas like legends.

Legends who had just been caught.

A knock at the door broke through his thoughts. He straightened, adjusting his coat before calling out, “Enter.”

The door creaked open, and Ensign Mako stepped inside, his face pale and drawn. “Lieutenant,” he said, his voice low. “We’ve just received a report from the lookout. A messenger ship intercepted a warning from Headquarters.”

Kakahira frowned, gesturing for Mako to continue. “What kind of warning?”

Mako hesitated, his gaze flickering nervously. “It’s about the rest of the Straw Hat crew, sir. Word is, they’ve been on a rampage ever since the captain and the navigator were captured. Multiple Marine outposts have been hit. Ships sunk. They’re heading this way.”

Kakahira’s stomach sank. He didn’t need to ask why. The answer was obvious. Of course, they were coming. The Straw Hats weren’t like other pirate crews—they didn’t abandon their own. And if the stories were true, the rest of Luffy’s crew was every bit as formidable as he was.

“Dismissed,” he said tersely, waving Mako off. The ensign saluted, his movements stiff, before slipping back into the corridor and shutting the door behind him.

For a long moment, Kakahira sat in silence, staring at the stack of unfinished reports. Then, with a sharp exhale, he grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write. Not a supply requisition this time, but something more urgent: a contingency plan.

He sketched out a rough diagram of the ship, marking exits, choke points, and potential areas of cover. His pen moved quickly, his mind racing. If—no, when—the Straw Hats arrived, they wouldn’t hold back. And if Darvo had his way, the crew would be thrown into the line of fire, nothing more than cannon fodder.

Kakahira wouldn’t let that happen.

He began drafting instructions: orders to reposition the less experienced crewmen, fake maintenance assignments that would keep them away from the battle. If Darvo noticed, he could always spin it as an effort to bolster the ship’s defenses. The senior officers wouldn’t care enough to question him. They’d be too busy riding each others dick to notice what he was doing.

But as he worked, his thoughts kept drifting back to the prisoners. He’d seen the state they were in—their injuries, the blood, the seastone shackles that left them barely able to move. If the Straw Hats didn’t make it in time…

He shook his head, setting the pen down and pinching the bridge of his nose. Why did he care? They were pirates. Criminals. The logical thing would be to let them rot, let their crew arrive too late to save them. Yet, the idea left a sour taste in his mouth. He couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind, the one that whispered about duty and decency and what it really meant to wear the Marine uniform.

Pushing back his chair, Kakahira stood and moved around the large desk to the plate sitting on the bottom right corner: a stale loaf of bread, a tin cup, and a small flask of water. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

As he prepared the meager offering, he caught sight of his reflection in the warped mirror hanging on the wall. His uniform was still crisp, his rank insignia gleaming faintly in the lamplight. But his face—lined with exhaustion, shadowed by doubt—told a different story.

“This isn’t sympathy,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the sound of the ship. “It’s practicality. We’re better than pirates. We don’t let prisoners die in chains.”

The lantern’s weak, flickering light barely pushed back the darkness of the lower deck as Kakahira descended the creaking stairs. His footsteps were deliberate, the soft thud of his boots a measured rhythm in the quiet gloom. He carried the simple wooden plate, its contents paltry but sufficient: two chunks of hard bread and a tin cup filled with tepid water. The smell of salt and mildew hung thick in the air, mingling unpleasantly with the faint, acrid scent of blood.

The two figures in the cell remained motionless as he approached. Straw Hat Luffy and Nami, bound in heavy seastone chains, their bodies battered and broken, but their spirits—if the looks on their faces earlier were anything to go by—still dangerously intact.

Dangerous. That was the word Darvo had used to describe them, and it echoed in Kakahira’s mind as he set the lantern down on a rusted hook outside the cell. The light flickered, casting long, shifting shadows over the slumped forms of the prisoners. Dangerous, yes. But in their current state, the word felt almost absurd.

His gaze lingered on them: Luffy, sitting awkwardly against the cell’s damp wall, his legs stretched out in front of him and bound at the ankles. The weight of the seastone shackles had dragged his hands to the floor, leaving his arms limp and lifeless. His face was pale and streaked with dried blood, the wound on his temple sluggishly oozing despite the poor attempt at bandaging it.

Nami lay curled near him, her arms twisted uncomfortably in front of her, the shackles biting into her wrists. One ankle was bent at an odd angle, and her torn tank top did little to conceal the bruises blossoming along her ribs. Despite it all, her breathing was steady, and her eyes—when they fluttered open and fixed on him—were sharp and calculating.

“Stay where you are,” Kakahira said, his voice low and clipped.

Neither of them moved, though Nami’s lips curled into the faintest suggestion of a smirk. Luffy’s head lolled slightly, his half-lidded gaze shifting toward Kakahira with the sluggish weight of exhaustion. His straw hat, battered and dirt-streaked, rested a few feet away from him, just out of reach. Kakahira’s stomach twisted at the sight, though he couldn’t quite place why.

Setting the tray down on a low crate outside the cell, Kakahira fished the key from his coat pocket. The sound of it turning in the heavy lock echoed in the stillness, and as he swung the door open, the faint scrape of metal against wood made Nami’s eyes narrow.

He stepped inside, his boots scuffing against the damp planks, and crouched near the pair without meeting their eyes. His movements were quick but precise as he unlocked the heavy chain anchoring them to the floor. “You’re not going anywhere,” he muttered, his tone brusque. “And we both know it.”

The chains rattled as they fell slack, no longer tethered to the rusted bolt in the center of the cell and the wall respectively. Though still bound by their seastone shackles, Luffy’s arms sagged closer to his lap, and Nami shifted slightly, adjusting her position to ease the strain on her bruised limbs.

Kakahira rose and took a step back, his expression carefully neutral. “Eat,” he said shortly, sliding the crate toward them with his boot before retreating to the doorway. He stood just outside, folding his arms behind his back in a rigid posture of authority. “You won’t survive the night otherwise.”

Nami’s eyes flicked toward the tray, her expression unreadable. Her lips were dry and cracked, but she didn’t reach for the water. Instead, she met Kakahira’s gaze head-on. “Why?”

The question wasn’t spoken with gratitude or curiosity—it was sharp, a knife aimed directly at his conscience. Kakahira tightened his jaw, his gaze flicking toward the shadowy corners of the deck, as though the answer might be hiding there.

“Because we’re Marines,” he said finally, his tone as even as he could manage. “We’re better than pirates. Letting prisoners die of neglect is… beneath us.”

The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth. He knew they wouldn’t convince her—or himself, for that matter. But they were the kind of words a Marine was supposed to say, and for now, that was enough.

Nami laughed, though the sound was little more than a hoarse rasp. “Better than pirates?” she echoed, shifting slightly to sit upright. Her movements were stiff, her breath hitching as the chains pulled against her injuries. “You mean the kind of ‘better’ where you beat us half to death and then leave us to rot in chains?”

Kakahira’s mouth twitched, but he forced himself to remain calm. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” she shot back, her voice gaining strength. “And only because you’re not the one in charge. Your captain would’ve killed us already if he thought he could get away with it.”

Kakahira exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t have a rebuttal for that. She was right, of course. Darvo would’ve gladly executed them on the spot if it didn’t risk bringing the wrath of Marine Headquarters down on his head. The man wasn’t just cruel; he was a coward, too.

Luffy shifted again, drawing Kakahira’s attention. The pirate captain’s gaze was locked on him now, clearer than before but no less unnerving. Those eyes—they weren’t the eyes of a broken man. If anything, they burned with a quiet intensity that made Kakahira’s stomach churn.

“You’re not like the others,” Luffy said suddenly, his voice rough but steady.

Kakahira’s breath caught, but he quickly masked his surprise. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Luffy said, his head tilting slightly. “But I can tell. You hate this. All of it.”

Kakahira’s hands clenched behind his back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Luffy’s grin was faint but unmistakable. “Sure I do. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Kakahira glared at the pirate, but the anger he felt wasn’t directed at him. It was aimed inward, at the part of himself that knew Luffy was right.

He turned away, his hands trembling as he adjusted his coat. “You’ll need to clean those wounds,” he said curtly, his back to them. “If they get worse—if there’s an infection—you ask for me. Not the medics. Me.”

“Why?” Nami’s voice was quieter now, almost cautious. “Why would you care?”

Kakahira hesitated, his gaze fixed on the dim glow of the lantern. Why did he care? He told himself it was because he had to. Because he was a Marine, and Marines were supposed to uphold some semblance of justice, even if their superiors didn’t. But he knew the truth. He was the only one who truly cared if they lived or died.

“Because it’s my job,” he said finally, the lie slipping out smoothly. “And because I’d rather not deal with the mess it’ll cause if you die here.”

Nami snorted softly, shaking her head. “Right. Your ‘job.’”

He hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of responding before he stepped back toward and past the cell door, his boots scraping against the planks. But as his hand brushed the bars to close the door, he paused, his gaze flickering toward the battered straw hat lying just out of Luffy’s reach on the other side of the bars.

For a moment, he stood frozen, the air heavy with the creak of the ship and the quiet, uneven breaths of the prisoners. It wasn’t the kind of thing he should be thinking about. They were pirates. Enemies. But the sight of the hat, so obviously important even in its damaged state, gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Letting out a quiet breath, Kakahira crouched down and picked up the hat. The straw felt rough under his fingers, the edges frayed from battles and hardships he could only read through reports and the World Economy Newspaper. He hesitated again, glancing at Luffy, who watched him through heavy-lidded eyes that shined with something Kakahira refused to look into deeper.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Kakahira muttered, stepping closer and holding the hat out to him. Luffy didn’t speak, but his gaze lingered on Kakahira, sharp and unyielding, before shifting down to the hat.

When Luffy didn’t move—his hands still bound by the seastone shackles—Kakahira leaned forward and carefully placed the hat on the pirate captain’s head. It settled awkwardly, tilted at an angle, but it belonged there, as if some unspoken balance had been restored.

Straightening, Kakahira turned on his heel and strode toward the cell door, his boots scraping once more against the planks. As he slid the key into the lock, he cast one last glance at the two prisoners. Luffy was still watching him. Nami had already reached for the water, her movements slow but determined.

The door creaked shut behind him, and he locked it with a decisive click. Grabbing the lantern, he turned and ascended the stairs, his shadow stretching long and thin behind him.

The cramped quarters were still just as stifling as they always were. Kakahira’s lamp burned low, its light illuminating the worn wooden desk scattered with maps, reports, and hastily scrawled notes. The room was silent except for the rhythmic scratch of his pen and the faint murmur of the ship’s groaning timbers.

His pen flew over the parchment, filling out yet another mundane supply report. The ammunition count for the forward cannons was lower than expected; half the barrels of salted fish had spoiled during the last voyage. These were problems he should have been focusing on, problems his crew depended on him to solve.

But his mind was elsewhere, flitting between the official paperwork and the tattered map pinned to the desk.

The map was a recent acquisition, a crude but serviceable chart of the New World’s waters. Kakahira’s eyes darted over it, tracing the dotted line he had drawn—an approximation of the Straw Hat crew’s trajectory. Each point marked a location that had been hit: a Marine outpost here, a supply depot there. The most recent reports placed them less than two days away.

“Two days,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The timeline felt absurdly short. No matter how carefully he mapped their course, the distance between each target seemed to vanish with alarming speed, as if the Straw Hats were moving with inhuman precision.

Another report lay open on the desk, this one scrawled in a different hand. It was a list of confirmed sightings, detailing the crew’s composition and their methods of attack. Kakahira read over it again, his stomach tightening at the descriptions. Zoro, the swordsman, was cutting through ships with a level of ferocity that had left veteran Marines in pieces. Sanji, the cook, was picking apart squads with surgical efficiency. Even the ship’s sniper had managed to take down entire units from distances that defied logic. He couldn't stomache reading what the other crew members had been doing.

They weren’t just coming. They were coming like a storm.

Kakahira leaned forward, circling the last known location on the map with the tip of his pen. From there, the next logical target was the Horizon’s Wrath—if they were moving in a straight line. But the Straw Hats were unpredictable, and he knew better than to rely on assumptions.

Frowning, he pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward him and began drafting new orders. Each one was written with the same measured tone he used for his reports, each phrased as a routine directive:

• “Ensure non-combat personnel are stationed on the upper deck for maintenance drills.”
• “Reassign inexperienced recruits to supply distribution duty.”
• “Relocate medical supplies to the forward storage hold.”

The words were clinical, precise. But the intent behind them was anything but. If anyone noticed the pattern, it could easily be dismissed as standard preparation for an inspection or a potential skirmish.

Still, the weight of the deception pressed heavily on his chest. He paused, his pen hovering over the page as doubt crept in. What if he was wrong? What if the Straw Hats didn’t come? Or worse, what if his actions were discovered before they arrived?

A sharp knock at the door startled him, and he quickly shuffled the papers into a neat pile before calling out, “Enter.”

Ensign Mako stepped inside, his expression a mix of nervousness and curiosity. “Lieutenant, sir,” he said, holding up a folded piece of parchment. “Another report from the messenger ship. It’s urgent.”

Kakahira took the report, unfolding it with steady hands. His eyes scanned the contents, his frown deepening as he read. The Straw Hats had hit another outpost—this one farther north than expected, but still on a direct path toward the Horizon’s Wrath.

“How long ago?” he asked, his voice clipped.

“Six hours, sir,” Mako replied. “They… they didn’t leave anything standing.”

Kakahira nodded, dismissing the ensign with a curt wave. As the door closed behind Mako, he turned back to the map, marking the new location with a small X. The pattern was unmistakable now, the gaps between each strike shrinking as the crew moved with relentless determination.

“They’ll be here by tomorrow night,” he muttered, his fingers drumming against the desk. The realization sent a jolt of urgency through him, and he grabbed his pen again, adding the final touches to his orders.

When he finished, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the map as if it might offer some hidden insight. He had done everything he could to protect his men—at least, everything he could without drawing suspicion. But the lingering unease in his chest refused to abate.

His thoughts drifted to the prisoners again, chained below deck. He had seen the defiance in their eyes, the quiet strength that refused to be snuffed out. If the Straw Hats were this close, there was no doubt in his mind that they would come for their captain and navigator.

Kakahira stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floorboards. There was more to do, but none of it mattered right now. His boots echoed in the narrow corridor as he left his quarters, the freshly written orders clutched in one hand. The oppressive weight of the ship seemed to press down on him with every step, but his mind remained focused.

The first stop was the main deck. A cluster of Marines stood near the mast, their postures tense as they worked through mundane tasks—coiling ropes, polishing muskets, and cleaning equipment. The atmosphere was thick with unease; word of the Straw Hats’ recent rampage had spread like wildfire, and the anxiety was palpable.

“Ensign Mako!” Kakahira barked, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

Mako snapped to attention, his face pale but resolute. “Sir!”

“I need you to organize a maintenance drill for the junior recruits,” Kakahira said, handing him one of the orders. “Upper deck only. Focus on securing rigging and inspecting the lifeboats. I want every recruit accounted for and occupied.”

Mako blinked, the confusion flickering across his face before he managed a nod. “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it immediately.”

Kakahira stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Keep them busy, Ensign. Away from the lower decks.”

The younger Marine’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t question the directive. “Understood, Lieutenant.”

As Mako turned to gather the recruits, Kakahira moved toward the port-side cannons, where Sergeant Torren was inspecting the weapons with a critical eye. The older Marine was as dependable as they came, his face weathered from years of service.

“Torren,” Kakahira said, drawing the sergeant’s attention. “How’s the readiness of the port battery?”

Torren straightened, saluting sharply. “Could be better, sir. We’re low on shot for the long guns, and one of the mounts is out of alignment.”

“Focus on the mount,” Kakahira said, handing him another order. “But take your team to the forward hold once you’ve assessed it. The ammunition reserves need reorganizing.”

“Reorganizing?” Torren asked, one eyebrow arching slightly.

“Yes,” Kakahira replied, his tone firm. “The last inventory was a mess. I want it sorted and cataloged before the day’s end. Pull anyone you need from the starboard teams, but leave the port-side lightly staffed.”

Torren hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “Understood, sir.”

By the time Kakahira returned to the mid-deck, a subtle shift was already taking place. The recruits were scrambling to follow Mako’s drill orders, moving crates and tools to the upper deck with a mix of confusion and urgency. Torren and his team were inspecting the cannons with their usual meticulous precision, though several Marines had already peeled off toward the forward hold.

Kakahira allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. The movements would appear routine to anyone watching—Darvo, Feston, or otherwise. But by the time the Straw Hats arrived, most of the less experienced crew would be stationed away from the battle, their chances of survival significantly increased.

Still, the knot in his chest refused to loosen. He had done what he could, but the looming threat remained. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the prisoners below deck. He couldn’t shake the image of Luffy slumped against the wall, his straw hat lying just out of reach, or Nami’s bruised hands clenched tightly around the seastone shackles.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus as he descended the stairs to the lower decks. There was one more stop to make before the night was over.

The lantern swayed gently in Kakahira’s hand as he descended the stairs to the brig, its flickering light casting long, uneven shadows on the damp walls. The groan of the ship’s timbers was louder down here, the air heavier, colder. Each step felt like a decision he was forcing himself to take.

There were no guards. Dravo wasn't smart enough to assign anyone to the duty, and Kakahira had simply been too busy to do it. (He knew he was lying to himself. He refused to examine the thought anything beyond that though.) He paused outside the cell, the key in his hand hovering just above the lock. Nami was awake, her head tilted back against the wall, her orange hair clinging to her bruised face. Her eyes snapped to him immediately, sharp and wary, even in her weakened state. Luffy, still slumped in the corner, shifted slightly, his shackled hands resting limply on the floor.

Kakahira exhaled quietly and opened the cell door, the creak of the hinges drawing their attention. He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“They’re coming,” he said, his voice low and firm.

Nami’s brow furrowed, her posture stiffening despite her obvious pain. “What are you talking about?”

“Your crew,” Kakahira replied, glancing briefly at Luffy before focusing back on her. “They’ve been tearing through every Marine outpost in their path. They’ll be here by tomorrow night—sooner if they keep the pace they’ve been moving.”

Nami’s lips parted slightly, her breath hitching. For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of the ship groaning in the distance. Then, Luffy raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto Kakahira with a steady intensity.

“Good,” Luffy said, his voice hoarse but clear.

Kakahira’s jaw tightened. “Good?” he echoed, the word escaping before he could stop it. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen when they get here? This ship isn’t ready for them. My men aren’t ready for them.”

Luffy’s grin was faint, but unmistakable. “That’s their problem,” he said simply.

“Your men?” Nami cut in, her tone sharper. “The same ones who’ve been following Darvo’s orders to beat us half to death? Those men?”

“They’re not all like him,” Kakahira said quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“No?” Nami’s voice was scathing now. “Then why are they standing by, letting him do whatever he wants? Why are you standing by?”

Kakahira looked up, meeting her glare with a tight expression. “I’m doing what I can.”

“And what’s that?” Nami shot back. “Feeding us scraps and telling us our crew is coming? How noble of you.”

Luffy’s quiet chuckle broke the tension, though it did little to ease the weight in the room. “She’s right, you know,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall. “If you’re not with him, then what are you doing here?”

Kakahira’s fists clenched at his sides. “I’m trying to stop this ship from becoming a graveyard,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended. “When your crew gets here—and they will get here—there’s going to be a fight. People are going to die. I’m trying to make sure it isn’t everyone.”

Nami stared at him, her expression unreadable. Luffy, meanwhile, tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing.

“You don’t think you can win,” Luffy said. It wasn’t a question.

Kakahira’s silence spoke volumes.

“You’re smart,” Luffy continued, his tone almost casual. “Smarter than Darvo, anyway. You’ve figured it out already, haven’t you? That they’ll lose.”

“That’s not the point,” Kakahira snapped.

“Isn’t it?” Luffy asked, his grin widening.

Kakahira took a step closer, his composure cracking. “The point is that this ship is full of good men—men who don’t deserve to die because of Darvo’s stupidity. If you care about your crew half as much as they care about you, then you’ll do whatever it takes to keep this from turning into a bloodbath.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Nami’s gaze softened slightly, though her posture remained tense.

“Why are you telling us this?” she asked finally. “What do you want from us?”

Kakahira hesitated, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. He didn’t know how to answer. Part of him wanted to say it was strategic—that warning them was a way to prevent chaos. But another part, deeper and more honest, whispered that it was something else.

“I want…” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I want you to understand what’s coming. And if you want your crew to find you alive, you’ll do everything you can to survive until then.”

Nami’s lips pressed into a thin line. Luffy, however, didn’t look away.

“They’ll find us,” Luffy said, his voice steady and unshaken. “And they’ll win.”

Kakahira looked at him, at the quiet certainty in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it infuriated him or impressed him. Maybe both.

Without another word, Kakahira turned toward the door. His hand was on the latch when he stopped, glancing back at the straw hat resting awkwardly on Luffy’s head.

“You should prepare yourselves,” he said, his tone softer now. “And Ill have someone send you dinner.”

He stepped out after he finished talking, locking the cell behind him with a metallic click. The lantern’s glow trailed after him as he ascended the stairs, ignoring the hushed whispers he could hear behind him follow him on his way out.

The morning came cloaked in a strange, uneasy quiet. The Horizon’s Wrath drifted on a sea that was too calm, the water like glass beneath the bruised-gray sky. There was no wind, no sound but the occasional groan of the ship’s timbers. Even the gulls that normally hovered near the mast were absent, as if they too could sense what was coming.

Kakahira stood at the quarterdeck, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. From his vantage point, he could see the entire ship: the crew scrambling to prepare the cannons, the fresh recruits hauling crates of ammunition to the forward hold, the senior officers barking orders with thinly veiled impatience. The tension was palpable, crackling through the air like the static before a storm. Thank god Darvo never got up before 14:00.

“Lieutenant,” a voice called from behind him.

He turned to see Ensign Mako approaching, his face pale and drawn. The younger Marine held a clipboard in one hand, the other clutching his side as though trying to steady himself.

“What is it, Mako?” Kakahira asked, his tone brisk but not unkind.

“The preparations are almost complete,” Mako reported, his voice low. “The recruits are in position, and the cannons are loaded. But…” He hesitated, glancing toward the deck below.

“But what?” Kakahira pressed, his gaze narrowing.

Mako licked his lips nervously. “There are… rumors, sir. The men are saying the Straw Hats are unstoppable. That they’re monsters. Some of them are—” He swallowed hard. “—panicking.”

Kakahira’s jaw tightened. He had expected as much. The stories of the Straw Hats’ exploits were enough to unsettle even seasoned Marines, and with the recent reports of their rampage, the crew’s unease had grown into something dangerously close to fear.

“Focus on your duties,” Kakahira said firmly, meeting Mako’s gaze. “The men look to their officers for stability. If we falter, so will they.”

“Yes, sir,” Mako said, though his voice lacked conviction.

As the ensign hurried off, Kakahira turned his attention back to the deck. His men were doing their best to follow orders, but the tension was clear in their movements: the way their hands trembled as they secured the ropes, the way they glanced nervously toward the horizon.

The horizon.

Kakahira’s eyes lingered on the distant line where the sea met the sky. It was empty for now, but he knew that wouldn’t last. The Straw Hats were coming, and they would not be deterred.

He descended the stairs to the main deck, his boots thudding softly against the planks. The sound seemed to echo in the unnatural stillness.

“Torren,” he called, approaching the sergeant near the port-side cannons.

The older Marine looked up, his expression grim but composed. “Sir?”

“Ensure the men are ready to fall back at my command,” Kakahira said quietly, keeping his voice low enough that the surrounding crew wouldn’t hear.

Torren frowned. “Fall back, sir?”

“You heard me,” Kakahira replied, his tone firm. “If the situation becomes untenable, I want our men out of the line of fire. We’ve lost enough already to the ambush.”

For a moment, Torren said nothing, his eyes searching Kakahira’s face. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned back to the cannons.

Kakahira didn’t wait for a response. He made his way toward the lower decks, the tension in his chest growing heavier with each step.

The brig was as dim and cold as it had been the night before, the faint light of the lantern barely cutting through the shadows. He approached the cell slowly, his gaze settling on the two figures inside.

Luffy and Nami were awake, though they didn’t acknowledge him at first. Luffy sat cross-legged on the floor, his shackled hands resting on his knees. His straw hat sat perched on his head, the battered brim tilted slightly forward. Nami leaned against the wall, her wrists still bound, her bruised face set in a hard expression. He eyed the empty plates in the corner, humming slowly in satisfaction when he saw half eaten-eggs and the tail of a fish.

“They’ll be here by nightfall,” Kakahira said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

Nami looked up, her eyes narrowing. “How do you know?”

“I’ve been tracking them,” Kakahira replied simply. “They haven’t deviated from their path. They’re coming for you.”

“And you’re scared,” Luffy said, his voice calm but certain.

Kakahira stiffened. “I’m responsible for the lives of this crew,” he said, his tone clipped. “Fear has nothing to do with it.”

Luffy tilted his head slightly, his grin faint but unmistakable. “It has everything to do with it.”

Kakahira glared at him, but the anger didn’t last. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If it comes to a fight—and it will—there’s nothing I can do to stop it. But I can try to minimize the damage. I’ve repositioned the recruits and non-combatants. Most of them won’t be in the line of fire.”

“You think that’ll make a difference?” Nami asked, her voice low.

“I hope so,” Kakahira said, his gaze meeting hers. “It’s more than Darvo or Feston would do.”

Nami studied him for a long moment before speaking again. “Why are you telling us this? What do you expect us to do?”

“Nothing,” Kakahira said flatly. “I just thought you should know.”

The attack came just as the sun dipped below the horizon, staining the sky a bruised orange. The first sign of the Straw Hats’ arrival wasn’t their ship—it was the sound. A distant, booming crack as the first cannonball struck the sea near the frigate, sending up a geyser of water that showered the deck.

“They’re here!” a Marine shouted, her voice trembling as the crew scrambled to their positions.

Kakahira stood on the quarterdeck, his hands gripping the railing as his eyes scanned the horizon. It didn’t take long to spot them: the Thousand Sunny, its lion figurehead gleaming even in the dim light, slicing through the water with a speed that defied reason.

The ship’s distinctive sails were unmistakable, but what truly set Kakahira’s chest tightening was the chaos already unfolding. A barrage of cannonballs rained down from the Straw Hats’ ship, each one precise, hitting key parts of the frigate’s rigging and deck.

“Return fire!” Captain Darvo’s voice roared from behind him, the man’s bulky frame trembling with fury. “Sink that ship! Don’t let them get close!”

The Marines rushed to obey, but Kakahira could see it in their faces—the fear, the hesitation. Most of these men had heard the stories, had seen what the Straw Hats were capable of. They knew this wasn’t a fight they could win.

Another cannonball struck the starboard side, the explosion sending shards of wood flying through the air. Kakahira flinched as the shockwave rippled through the deck, but he forced himself to remain calm.

“Torren!” he barked, catching the sergeant’s attention as the man rushed toward the cannons. “Start moving the recruits to the lifeboats. Now.”

Torren hesitated, his face lined with doubt. “But the captain—”

“I’ll deal with the captain,” Kakahira snapped. “Just do it.”

The sergeant nodded grimly and turned to carry out the order.

Kakahira’s focus returned to the battle. The Thousand Sunny was closing in now, and through the chaos, he could make out figures leaping from its deck. A green-haired swordsman cut through the air, his blades gleaming, while a blonde man in a suit soared higher than seemed possible, his foot igniting with a burst of flame as he launched himself toward the frigate.

The fight was upon them.

Kakahira moved through the chaos like a man possessed, barking orders to the few Marines who hadn’t frozen in fear or fled outright. The clash of swords and gunfire filled the air as the Straw Hats tore through the crew with terrifying efficiency.

Zoro carved a path across the deck, his swords cutting through Marines and cannons alike with devastating precision. Sanji moved like a blur, his flaming kicks sending armed men sprawling before they even had a chance to react. And somewhere in the chaos, the reindeer doctor and the sharpshooter were dismantling the rigging and supplies with almost surgical precision. He was sure the other three were somewhere unseen, or more likely actually looking for their missing captain and navigator.

Kakahira’s chest tightened as he realized the inevitability of it all. The Straw Hats weren’t just winning—they were dismantling the Horizon’s Wrath piece by piece.

Then the ship groaned.

It was a sound Kakahira had only heard once before: the deep, resonant creak of a hull splitting under strain. His stomach dropped as he looked toward and over the starboard side, where water was pouring in through a massive hole near the waterline.

“The ship is taking on water!” a Marine screamed, his voice cracking with panic.

Kakahira froze, his gaze darting between the battle and the rising waterline. The frigate was doomed. It wouldn’t be long before it sank entirely, dragging everyone onboard into the depths.

For a moment, he considered abandoning his post. The lifeboats were already being lowered—he could still save himself. But then his mind flashed to the brig, to the two figures chained below deck.

Luffy was a Devil Fruit user. He wouldn’t be able to swim. If one of the straw hats hadn't already found them, there was no way they were going to get to them in time.

Kakahira cursed under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. There was no reason to save them. They were pirates, criminals. Leaving them to their fate would make his life infinitely easier.

But he couldn’t do it.

The corridors leading to the brig were a nightmare, tilted at odd angles as the ship listed to one side. Water was already seeping into the lower decks, the cold saltwater sloshing around Kakahira’s boots as he waded through the gloom.

The lantern in his hand barely illuminated the way, the shadows stretching like grasping fingers against the walls. He reached the brig just as the water reached his knees, the sound of the approaching storm rumbling ominously above.

Luffy and Nami looked up as he entered, their expressions shifting from surprise to confusion.

“What are you doing?” Nami demanded, her voice hoarse.

“Saving your lives,” Kakahira said shortly, pulling the keys from his belt.

“You’re insane,” she said, even as she shifted closer, her chains rattling.

“I know.”

He unlocked Nami’s shackles first, her wrists red and raw as the heavy seastone fell away. She rubbed her arms, staring at him like he was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

Luffy’s gaze met Kakahira’s as the Marine knelt to unlock his chains. The pirate captain said nothing, but the intensity in his eyes was undeniable.

“Can you walk?” Kakahira asked, his voice tight as he rose.

Luffy nodded once, though his movements were sluggish.

“Good. Let’s go,” Kakahira said, grabbing Luffy’s arm and slinging it over his shoulder.