Chapter 183: Otohime's Shadowy Captivity
"Perhaps I can help you?"
The woman's voice carried a gentle lilt, soothing the mind and stirring an instinctive trust.
"Tch. You've got some sharp Observation Haki there. Not bad—you're no ordinary fish."
Moria narrowed his eyes, unmoved. "Mermaid, you want my name? I don't recall Fish-Man Island boasting anyone this strong."
He'd been prowling the New World long enough to spot mind games from a mile away. A regular joe might've fallen for her subtle sway, but not him.
"My name is Otohime," she replied softly, her tone shifting to something more bewildered and genuine. "I'm just an ordinary mermaid."
One day earlier, she'd been strolling through Fish-Man District as usual, lending a hand to struggling fish-men. It was her routine—the district's chaos stemmed from her own royal family's neglect, after all.
But that simple outing had exploded into betrayal. While aiding a fish-man family, pirates clashed with her guards, turning the streets into a battlefield. In the ensuing panic, she'd bolted toward the direction the fish-man had pointed, assuming his frantic vibe was just shock at the violence.
By the time suspicion hit, it was too late. A blow to the head knocked her out cold. She woke trapped in a sealed wooden crate.
Humans came and went outside—slavers, she guessed. She'd tried using her Observation Haki to nudge the kinder ones into freeing her, but rough hands always intervened.
Foot traffic dwindled until only Moria showed up. Sensing he was alone, she'd tried influencing him again.
No dice.
"Otohime?" Moria muttered. The name rang a faint bell—from a stopover at Fish-Man Island years back, when a crewmate had name-dropped her. Some royal bigwig, if memory served.
He shook it off. Dwelling on the past just reopened old wounds. Every face from his lost crew twisted the knife.
"I hear mermaids don't need food to survive. Keep it civil—I don't care about your story. Save it for Saint Ross."
With that, Moria waved over a pair of zombies. They hoisted the crate—Princess Otohime inside—and lumbered toward his ship.
Since his crew's end, companionship held no appeal. Better to stitch shadows from the living into dead flesh with his Shadow-Shadow Fruit. No friends meant no more heartbreak.
"Mr. Moria..." Otohime called out desperately, but he kept walking. Her voice faded into the distance.
She curled up in the dim crate, hugging her tail as tears mixed with the shallow seawater pooling at the bottom. "I'm useless... Can't even handle something this basic."
Celestial Dragons didn't scare her. She'd rubbed elbows with them at two prior Levely in Mary Geoise. As a representative of Fish-Man Island—a World Government member nation—they'd shown her basic courtesy, even without respect. No outright threats.
And Saint Ross? She'd heard the rumors. He focused on crushing pirates and threats to the world order, not pointless cruelty. Their goals aligned, if anything.
No, it was the betrayal that gnawed at her. Her own people, turning on her trust.
Despite her gifts—Haki that let her sense and soothe intentions—she'd failed to escape. That helplessness crushed her spirit.
She'd always believed opening her heart could conquer anything. These past days screamed otherwise: naive, pointless idealism.
What now?
---
One day later, atop Skypiea.
"This the Rumble-Rumble Fruit? Kinda underwhelming at first glance."
Ross caught the fruit from Gion, eyed it briefly, then lobbed it to Sora.
She snatched it mid-air, shooting him a mild glare. "Your Highness, this is top-shelf. One bite could forge an Admiral-level powerhouse."
Years at Ross's side, plus her Brain-Brain Fruit's knowledge sponge, had drilled the Devil Fruits' worth into her skull.
Ross grinned. "Then test if we can copy it."
No one in his crew fit the bill just yet. Holding onto it bought time for the right recruit. And if Sora cracked replication? Game-changer.
He recalled Vegapunk pulling off something similar decades from now—but only with Zoans. Logia like this? Trickier.
Sora nodded, piecing it together. "Cloning Devil Fruits? I'll dig in."
She pocketed it carefully. No way she'd waste the real thing. Zane had scored a handful of lesser fruits during her Alabasta run—perfect lab rats.
Gion leaned forward from her seat, impatience flickering. "When do we shove off from Skypiea?"
She knew the route: Holy Land next, then straight to Wano. One loose end waited there—King. She'd let him slip once. Not again.
"Tomorrow," Ross said. "Skypiea's settling down. With Conis on board, it'll stay peaceful."
He glanced at Conis nearby, her fingers dancing over the piano keys.
The melody hit a sour note at his words. She turned, eyes soft with reluctance. "Lord Ross... tomorrow already?"
"Time to sail. Skypiea's yours to watch over from here."
His smile warmed. He hadn't pushed with Conis—let things simmer naturally. After heavy feasts of "meat," a touch of "vegetables" kept life balanced. He admired her quiet strength beneath the gentleness.
Feelings like these? They bloomed sweeter with time. Next reunion, mutual and ready.
As the piano resumed, softer now, Ross felt the pull of the horizon. Wano beckoned, with its samurai shadows and unfinished business. But for tonight, Skypiea's calm winds were enough.
—
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