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Nami strolled through the bustling market, her eyes scanning the colorful stalls for something unique. Her gaze fell upon a dusty old book tucked away on a rickety shelf. Curiosity piqued, she picked it up, feeling the weight of its age in her hands. The leather cover was worn, the gold lettering faded, and when Nami opened the book she was hit with the faint scent of vanilla. As she thumbed through the book’s pages, a folded letter fell out.
Yellowed and fragile, the letter was addressed to a “Miss Nico Robin” in elegant, flowing script. Nami knew it wasn’t right to read someone else’s mail, but her curiosity got the better of her.
Robin—
I don’t know if this letter will ever reach you, but I write this in the hopes that one day you’ll find peace. The life you’ve lived, the things you’ve seen, no one should carry such a burden alone. I wish I could be there, to tell you in person, but you know I cannot. The world we live in isn’t terribly kind to people like us. I’m lucky to even be alive today. But that’s besides the point. Remember what I said to you all those years ago? There’s nothing more ridiculous than being born in this world to be alone. Perhaps one day I won’t have to hide anymore, but until then, I hope you’ve found people you can call true friends.
Nami frowned. She flipped the letter over, but there was no signature. Whoever had written it clearly hadn’t intended for it to be read by anyone other than Robin. The name tugged at Nami’s memory, but she couldn’t place it. Still, something about the letter struck her. Perhaps it was the sorrow woven between the lines, or the sense that Robin had once meant something to someone important.
For a moment, Nami hesitated, contemplating what to do. But then, as if driven by impulse, she reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper.
Miss Nico Robin,
I found this letter in an old book at a market. It seems like it never reached you, but I felt like it should. I’m sorry for prying, but something about it made me think it belongs with you.
—Nami
She folded the note, tucked it back into the envelope with the original letter, and sealed it with the faintest smile. It was a simple act, but one that carried weight. She didn’t expect to hear back. It was a long shot that the address was even still valid. Still, she found herself returning to the post office that same afternoon, dropping the letter into the box before she could change her mind.
Reading the letter was a major violation of privacy. But then, if Nami hadn’t read it, she never would’ve even thought about sending it back. It’s not that she would’ve thrown it away; that just seemed wrong to her. She probably would’ve just left it where the book had been, and it would have never been seen by its intended recipient.
Whoever this Robin lady was, she needed to know that someone in this world was trying to look out for her.
—
Traveling to the market a few towns over (Nami knew better than to try and steal from the same market twice, especially on consecutive days) the next day, however, Nami wondered if she had made a mistake.
Damn near every stall had a poster stuck to it, showing the largest bounty one could possibly conceive of—still unclaimed to this day. And all of it was on the head of that woman. “Devil Child” was what they called her—what did Robin do to deserve that title? Did Nami want to know? Probably not.
The image of the bounty poster stayed with Nami as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. She couldn’t shake the thought of Robin’s face, eyes staring out from the poster, both guarded and defiant. It seemed strange to her now, the humanity in that note written to her. That letter had come from someone who saw Robin as more than just a bounty, more than the "Devil Child" the world claimed her to be. Nami couldn’t help but wonder who this Robin really was—and what her story might be.
Days passed, and Nami had almost forgotten about the letter when a response arrived, a worn envelope with her name written in delicate script. She opened it carefully, her heart beating a little faster with curiosity and something else she couldn’t name.
Dear Nami,
Thank you for sending me that letter. It was an unexpected gift—and a reminder of someone from a life long past. I hope it didn't trouble you too much to read such a message. I can only assume that curiosity got the best of you. I’ve always found that’s true of the bold ones. I don’t blame you one bit.
I live a rather … unusual life, to say the absolute least. Most people wouldn’t care to reach out like this. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t intrigue me. Maybe you’re just someone who stumbled onto a piece of someone else’s past. Or maybe there’s more to your story, too.
Whatever the reason, I’d like to know. Write to me, if you’d like.
Warmly,
Robin
Nami blinked, rereading the letter a few more times. It wasn’t what she expected—a simple thank you at most, but even that would’ve been more than what Nami would expect. She didn’t send the letter because she wanted to be thanked for it.
She sat at her rickety desk that evening, the dim lantern casting flickering light over the parchment as she turned over her thoughts. Who was Nico Robin, really? And why did Nami feel the sudden urge to reply? Maybe it was the thrill of it—writing to a wanted outlaw, someone whose life seemed far removed from her own struggles with debts and survival. That’s what she chose to believe as she dipped her pen into her ink bottle.
Dear Robin,
I wasn’t expecting a reply, but I’m glad you did. You’re right, curiosity did get the best of me. That, and something about that letter felt…important. Like it wasn’t meant to be lost in the pages of some forgotten book.
As for my story, I suppose you could say it’s far less unusual than yours. I grew up in a small town, but life here hasn’t exactly been kind. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve been doing my best to get by, by any means possible. My situation isn’t exactly the same thing as a bounty, but let’s just say I know a thing or two about having a sword over your head, metaphorically.
But enough about me. You don’t seem like the type to sit still for long, judging by your reputation. Is it true what they say about you? The "Devil Child" thing? Or is that just something people say when they don’t understand someone?
I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just want to know the truth. Or maybe I just want to keep this strange conversation going. Either way, I hope this letter finds you well—wherever you are. I don’t even know if the address will be the same, but here’s hoping.
—Nami
Nami folded the letter and stuck it in an envelope. She hesitated. Thinking back on what she’d written, she put that envelope into another envelope just to be safe. She knew it wouldn’t stop anyone who really wanted to see the contents, but the letter felt a little more secure nonetheless.
The reply came sooner than Nami expected. The envelope bore the same elegant handwriting, and she tore it open with an eagerness that surprised her.
Dear Nami,
Your letter reached me faster than I thought possible, given how far I roam these days.
To answer your question, yes, people do call me “Devil Child”. I haven’t been a child in a long time, but the other half of the title is [scribbled out word] understandable. It’s difficult to explain in a letter, but people fear what they don’t understand. I can’t blame them; that’s just the way it is. I imagine you’ve seen the bounty posters. It must seem strange, writing to someone whose face is plastered across towns as a wanted criminal. Perhaps it should trouble me more than it does, but I’ve long since stopped worrying about what others think of me.
Still, it’s rare to meet someone who doesn’t immediately see the bounty on my head. Your curiosity is endearing. It reminds me a little of myself. You see, ever since I was a child, it’s been my dream to uncover the truth about the Void Century. Can you believe there’s an entire century in history with no record of anything that happened during that time? The government guards it so closely, it's as if they fear what we might find if we were to learn the truth. There's no way they don’t know anything, and yet they’re willing to demolish their own house if they even suspect that the dwellers know something.
As for your concerns about the address, I’ll write the current one at the bottom of every letter, so do not worry.
Until next time,
Robin
—
Dear Robin,
I’m glad my letter reached you. Part of me thought it might not. It’s strange, writing to someone I’ve never met but feel compelled to know more about. I guess that’s the kind of curiosity you mentioned.
“Devil Child”, whatever that means, really doesn’t suit you. Or at least, it doesn’t suit the person who shows up in these letters. But maybe that’s the point, right? Names and titles are just what people decide to call us, whether they’re true or not. I’ve seen your bounty posters, and I’d be lying if I said they didn’t make me hesitate for a moment. But honestly? The way you write makes it impossible to see you as the monster they want you to be.
I’ll admit I never gave something like the Void Century much thought. I didn’t realize there was even something to think about in the first place, but I guess that goes to show that you really don’t know what you don’t know.
Your dream sounds dangerous, but also admirable. I really do hope you’ll succeed. Actually, my own dream isn’t too far removed from yours, now that I think about it. I don’t usually talk about it often, but I hope someday to be able to draw a complete map of the world. (I just realized I didn’t tell you about my job yet, sorry!) I’m a cartographer. I’ve always been fascinated with maps and navigation ever since I was a kid. But I’m not sure the younger me ever thought too hard about how attainable this dream actually is. Sometimes it’s hard enough just dealing with real life.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so depressing. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand chasing something bigger than yourself. Anyways, I should probably stop before I ramble too much. Thank you for sharing what you did with me. It means more than you probably realize. I hope you’ll write back.
Until then, stay safe.
—Nami
Nami didn’t usually have the luxury of thinking about her big dream. Her mind was always preoccupied with what would fetch a high price, what could she get away with stealing, how much more she needed to make the number hanging over her own head go down. It sometimes felt impossible, what with all those zeroes…
Sending off the letter, a disturbing thought entered her mind: Robin has just as many zeroes hanging over her head. The number wasn’t just big, it was life-changing. Adding that to what Nami had already managed to save would go beyond clearing her debt. And it would be so easy, too.
Why else are you going out of your way to keep writing to her? A darker voice in her head said. It’s not out of the kindness of your heart and it’s surely not because you felt sorry for her.
Nami stood abruptly, pacing the small room as if moving would dislodge those horrible thoughts from her brain. She already hated herself for considering it. She hated the part of herself that still wanted to argue that it was pragmatic, that it would let her finally follow her dream.
But was it a dream worth following if she had to sell out someone she’d grown to hold dear in order to achieve it?
—
Dear Nami,
Your letters never fail to make me happy. It’s rare these days to have something so… uncomplicated to look forward to. Letters are so different from conversations. They let you think before you speak and let you share pieces of yourself you might not face-to-face.
Your dream of mapping the world is beautiful. That’s not a word I use lightly. But something about it feels pure in a way that most things aren’t, the way you’re trying so hard to hold onto your dream even when the world is giving you every reason to let it go.
I hope you’ll keep writing. I want to know more about you and your world.
Until your next letter,
Robin
—
Dear Robin,
Your letters are starting to feel like small treasures, though I doubt you’d ever take credit for that. They mean more to me than I expected them to, but they also make me wonder about the person on the other side of them. It’s one thing to read someone’s words and imagine their voice, their expressions, but it’s another to see it for yourself.
I guess what I’m trying to say is—
Nami tried to steady her trembling hand.
—would you ever meet me? Neutral territory, somewhere safe. No bounties. Just us. I think I’d like that. Of course, if that’s too risky, I understand. But if you want to, I think we could make it work. I’ll leave it up to you. Either way, I’ll keep writing.
Take care,
Nami
—
Dear Nami,
I’m flattered that you’ve been cherishing my letters. I could say the same about yours. They have a way of pulling me into your world, making me feel like I know you in ways I haven’t known someone in a very long time.
Meeting you in person, however, isn’t a decision I can make lightly. It *is* risky. My life doesn’t allow for much beyond shadows and whispers, and I’ve learned to be careful about where I place my trust.
And yet, every part of me wants to trust you. So my answer is yes, but with caution. A meeting should happen on my terms, in a place I know well. I’ll send you directions in my next letter, and we’ll keep it simple. Neutral, as you said.
Until then, stay safe, Nami.
Yours,
Robin
—
Nami tightened the straps of her satchel as she approached the meeting spot Robin had described: an abandoned ranch on the outskirts of a dusty little trading post. The directions had been precise. Cross the dry creek bed. Pass the broken windmill. Look for the oldest corral, where warped wooden posts leaned like tired old men under the weight of time.
Her nerves tangled as the corral came into view, and with it, a figure leaning casually against the weathered fence. Even from a distance, Robin was unmistakable: dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, her wide-brimmed hat shading a face that seemed at once guarded and serene. The coat she wore hung lightly around her, its hem brushing the dry earth like a shadow.
“You came,” Robin said, her voice smooth and steady.
“You didn’t make it easy,” Nami replied, masking her nerves with a wry smile.
As seconds passed, each word spoken between the two became a little bit easier. Robin seemed just like the person in Nami’s letters, except for one important thing: she was gorgeous. Nami had never seen legs as long as Robin’s, but they suited her. (Of course, Nami made sure not to stare, only stealing respectful glances like the seasoned thief she was.)
But just as the air between them grew lighter, the distant crunch of boots on dirt shattered the moment.
Robin froze, her gaze darting to the shadows beyond the corral. “We’re not alone,” she murmured.
Nami’s heart dropped. Before she could respond, five figures emerged from the dim light, their boots kicking up small clouds of dust. The setting sun glinted off the barrels of their pistols and the knives at their belts.
“Well, well,” one of them sneered, his scarred face twisting into a smirk. “Looks like someone beat us to the punch. Ain’t that a kick in the dick?”
“More like a two-for-one special,” one of his buddies replied.
Robin’s stance shifted immediately. Her arms crossed over her chest in a practiced “X,” and with a quiet flutter, limbs began to sprout from the bounty hunters’ bodies. Hands twisted their arms, weapons clattered to the ground, and painful submission holds brought cries of pain echoing through the dusty air.
One of the bounty hunters struggled, managing to charge forward. Robin’s calm didn’t falter as a massive hand sprouted from the ground beneath him, flipping him over and pinning him to the dirt. “You should have chosen a different target,” Robin said coldly, her voice steady as stone.
Another lunge was intercepted as hands sprouted directly from the attacker’s shoulders, gripping him and wrenching him to the ground. Snap. Nami flinched as the sound echoed under the open sky, followed by a sharp cry of pain.
The last bounty hunter dropped his weapon and bolted, his boots skidding in the dirt as he disappeared into the distance. Robin’s sharp eyes tracked him for a moment before she finally relaxed her arms. “There will be more,” she said flatly.
Still catching her breath, Nami stepped closer, her heart pounding. “Robin, I had nothing to do with this,” she said urgently, the words spilling out before she could stop herself.
Robin turned, her gaze piercing.
“I swear!” Nami continued. “I wouldn’t, I couldn’t! You have to believe me.” Her voice softened, almost pleading. “I didn’t come all this way just to betray you.”
Robin studied her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I believe you,” she said simply. “But we need to move. Now.”
“Where?” Nami asked, gripping her satchel.
“Anywhere but here,” Robin replied.
They ran, boots kicking up dirt and dry grass as the abandoned ranch disappeared behind them. The cool night air stung Nami’s lungs, but she kept pace, following Robin’s steady stride.
When they finally stopped on a ridge overlooking the distant glow of the town, Robin leaned against the trunk of a twisted old mesquite tree, her calm demeanor intact despite the chaos they’d left behind.
“You didn’t have to stay,” Robin said after a moment, her voice quieter now.
“And let them drag you off or kill you?” Nami huffed, folding her arms. “Even I’m not that selfish.”
Robin’s gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “No, you’re not.”
Nami hesitated. “Do you really believe me?”
Robin’s lips curved faintly. “I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t.”