The wake-up trumpet blared. Clang, clang, clang. The metallic sound echoed through the corridor, and morning light streamed through the window of Room B-12. Koby lay in the upper bunk of the double bed, the blanket pulled up over his head, unmoving. His eyes were open. Open, but his body wouldn't move. No strength to lower his feet. Not even the strength to reach for his glasses. It had been like this since yesterday. After returning from the cliff, he'd stumbled into the barracks in wet shoes and collapsed onto the bed. Since then—how many hours had passed? The other apprentices in the room stirred, rustling as they got up. "Koby, you coming to eat?" A voice called out. Someone shook the double bed. "...Sorry, go ahead without me," He barely managed to squeeze out those words from beneath the blanket. The response seemed to register. Footsteps receded. The door closed. The room fell silent. Koby stared up at the ceiling. There was a small stain on the old wooden boards. He felt like he'd been staring at that stain ever since being left alone on the cliff. He didn't know if Arashi had submitted the report. Yesterday, he'd seen him walking down the corridor. There were folded papers in his hand. If he submitted those, Koby would be discharged. Two years—all of it, finished. That thought had been smoldering in the corner of his mind, and his body had gone rigid every time he heard footsteps in the hallway. Last night, he'd woken repeatedly whenever someone walked past, terrified the discharge notice had come. And then—Nicole's face. When she'd turned away, her shoulders had trembled. That chestnut-colored short hair had quivered. Nicole hadn't said anything to him. But she'd understood everything. She'd read what was in Koby's eyes in an instant. Because he knew she understood, he had no idea what expression to wear when they met again. Luffy had said "See ya, Koby" and disappeared beyond the sea. Without knowing anything. Without knowing how Koby felt standing there, what military regulations meant, what Arashi's back signified—none of it seemed to matter to him. He'd just waved and left. *(It's the same as Alvida's ship.)* The moment that thought surfaced, his stomach twisted with pain. Yelled at, yelled at again, just shrinking back, unable to make a sound—nothing had changed since then. He'd joined the Navy, trained, won mock battles, thought he'd grown stronger. But when it mattered, Koby had done nothing. Again. From the window, the noise of Ground Zero drifted in. Training voices, the crack of wooden swords. It was Sunday, so there shouldn't be training, but those must be voices from self-practice. Everyone was moving. Only Koby remained still. His stomach growled. It was a pathetic sound. Koby let out a small, bitter laugh. --- In the end, he stayed in the barracks until nearly noon. Nothing had changed. But hunger reached its limit, and he pushed the blanket aside. He got out of bed, put on his glasses, and ran his hand through his pink hair with its sleep-creases, but it was hopeless. He stepped into the corridor. No one was there. On a Sunday afternoon, everyone was out somewhere, leaving it quiet. Koby felt a small sense of relief and walked toward the dining hall, "Camarelia." He pushed open the door. The vast dining hall was nearly empty. A hall that could hold three hundred people now had fewer than ten. It was well past the lunch rush—a sparse, quiet time. Koby felt slightly reassured and sat at the most inconspicuous table in the corner. He didn't order anything or go get a tray. He just sat with his head down. He stared at the wood grain of the table. One knot, two knots. It was probably made from wood from some island somewhere. "—Yo, apprentice." A large figure emerged slowly from the back of the kitchen. A round-bellied man with short hair streaked with white, tied back. The person who always carried the scent of delicious food—Motta, the head chef of Petralia Base. Over fifty years old. Known for his hearty laugh, but he wasn't laughing now. Soft brown eyes glanced at Koby. He said nothing. He simply returned to the kitchen, made some clattering sounds, and came back out with a large plate. A mountain of white rice. Beside it, fish stew from the harbor, heaped generously. The smell alone made his stomach respond. Motta set it down in front of Koby with a thud. He pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "[serious]Eat. You can't solve your problems on an empty stomach," That was all. Nothing else. No "What's wrong?" No "You seem down." No "Did something happen?" Just food placed before him, and Motta himself settling into the chair across from him, arms crossed, waiting. Koby picked up his chopsticks. He brought the first bite slowly to his mouth. The fish stew was warm. The aroma of the broth filled his nostrils. A second bite. A third. Motta still said nothing. From outside the dining hall, the distant cry of seabirds. The faint sound of waves. After a while, Motta spoke, his voice soft. "[serious]When I was young, I had a friend," Koby didn't stop eating. He just listened. "[serious]A man who joined the Navy. Serious guy, good with a sword. One day—he got to know someone who was a pirate's companion. Turned out an old childhood friend of his had become a pirate. He was military, the other was a pirate, he understood that, so he couldn't say it out loud. He just stayed silent for years," Koby listened while eating. "[serious]He couldn't tell anyone, and years passed. He kept his feelings locked away, did his duties, got promoted—eventually the pirate childhood friend was caught and executed. When my friend heard the news, he couldn't eat that day," Motta's voice didn't change. It was the same casual tone as always. But each word fell into Koby's chest. "[serious]What that friend told me was—it wasn't regret that he wasn't strong enough. It wasn't regret that he made the wrong choice. It was that he could never be honest with his own feelings, right to the end—that was all that stayed with him," There was a pause. "[serious]You... well, you," Motta leaned his elbows on the table. "[serious]Your feelings belong to you alone. No one can take them from you, and don't let anyone deny them," Tears came. Suddenly, they spilled over. He tried to hold them back, but couldn't. As he ate, tears dropped onto his plate. His nose ran too—it was pathetic. Motta didn't say anything in particular. He didn't say "Don't cry" or "Are you okay?" He just sat across from him, arms crossed, waiting. "[crying]I'm sorry, um..." "[serious]Eat while you cry. The food will get cold," Koby laughed. He cried while laughing, then cried again. He probably looked ridiculous. But he didn't care. He stuffed his mouth full of rice, wiped his tears, and kept eating. Motta remained as he was, arms crossed, looking satisfied. --- When Koby left the dining hall, the sky was blindingly bright. The Sunday afternoon wind from the eastern sea swept across the stone-paved path. Koby squinted and stood still for a moment. He decided not to run away. He was scared. That hadn't changed. But staying frozen in fear was—for Koby, even more terrifying. His feet carried him toward the Garda Building. The main hall corridor was quiet. On a weekend afternoon, there were few people except those on duty. Only his footsteps echoed on the stone floor. As he walked, Koby noticed his heart was loud. Fast. But he wasn't running. He found Arashi by the window in the corridor. Standing alone, looking out. A tall back. Black hair tied back. The usual figure with a sword at his side. But when Koby approached and saw his profile—he could see folded paper in his hand. The report. He still had it. He hadn't submitted it. Koby's stopped feet moved again. He positioned himself in front of Arashi. Arashi slowly turned to face him. Silver eyes looked directly at Koby. His expression was unreadable. It always was. Koby didn't look away. He wanted to. Honestly, he wanted to run to the opposite end of the corridor right now. But Motta's voice was in his chest. "[serious]...It's okay if you report it," His voice trembled slightly. But he continued. "[serious]But before you do, I need to tell you something. Um..." He took a breath. "[serious]From the day Luffy helped me, my life changed. The way he laughs, how he doesn't care about anything—I can't explain it well, but I can't get it out of my head. I think that's something I can't do anything about," His voice caught. But he didn't stop. "[serious]I was really happy that you trained me, that you were always by my side—that's not a lie. I wanted to tell you that much," A long silence fell. Arashi said nothing. He looked at the report in his hand. Then at Koby. Then his eyes fell back to the report. Koby waited. He could only wait. Gradually, Arashi's hands moved slowly. He pulled the report. From the middle, slowly—he tore it. A soft rip. The torn pieces of paper fell to the stone floor of the corridor. Arashi looked at the floor once, then turned back to Koby. His face was usually expressionless. Calm, unreadable, impossible to know what he was thinking. But now—for the first time, something appeared in the depths of that face. "[cold]Your honesty is something I don't have," His low voice fell into the corridor. "[cold]I was raised in a military family. I've always kept my feelings locked away. I thought that was normal. But watching you—" There was a pause. "[cold]I lost to Luffy," A quiet statement. "[cold]But—I support the path you've chosen. That's my honest feeling," With that, Arashi turned away. He walked slowly down the corridor. He didn't look back. His footsteps faded. Koby watched his back disappear. Something strange filled his chest. Like it was being squeezed, but at the same time something was coming undone. Complex, impossible to put into words. Only the torn pieces of paper remained scattered on the corridor floor. --- There's a small plaza called Rosso Square within Petralia Base. It's behind the Forte Building, a space with sandbags hanging from it. Everyone uses it for self-practice, and there's usually someone there even on Sundays. As Koby approached, he heard a distant thud, thud sound. No rhythm. Not regular. Just the sound of hitting with brute force, over and over. He turned the corner and saw. Nicole was pounding the sandbag. Her eyes were red. The tape on her hands was coming loose from sweat. Her chestnut hair was disheveled, clinging to her cheeks. Her bright green eyes bore the traces of tears. Each time she swung her fist, her breathing grew slightly ragged. She noticed Koby's footsteps and turned around. For a moment, she froze. But Nicole spoke before Koby could say anything. "[sad]...I knew. I figured it out from the start. That you were thinking about someone," Her voice was slightly hoarse. "[sad]But I didn't want to admit it. It was easier that way," Koby said nothing. Words wouldn't come. Excuses, apologies, nothing felt substantial enough. Koby simply bowed deeply. Silence stretched between them. Nicole hit the sandbag once more, but this time gently. Completely different from her earlier forceful strikes—a soft thud. And then. "[laughing]—If you could say it honestly, I can't lose either!!" Her voice mixed crying and laughter, creating a strange sound. "[laughing]Next time, I'll have a better love!!" She shouted. Her voice echoed across the plaza. Koby lifted his head. Nicole was looking at him through tears and laughter. Her eyes were wet, but the corners of her mouth were turned up. She was accepting defeat while already facing forward—so like Nicole. Completely, utterly like her. Something warm spread through his chest. Pain and warmth, together. "[gentle]...Thank you," That was all the words that came out. Nicole sniffled and said "Hmph." Then for a moment, wind passed be