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Mist clung to Sawyer’s skin as she pivoted. The rope-dart sang through the air and struck the dummy’s throat.
~Thud~
Zoro saw the skills and the flaws. The way she moved—fluid but ungrounded.
“Not bad, but it’s more flair than function.”
“Says the guy with a sword in his mouth.”
“A sword’s a sword. That? That’s a circus trick.”
“You’re not far off actually.”
Another strike—low, sharp, but lacking the depth needed. He grunted. The potential was there. But polish came with purpose, not performance.
From the Poop Deck, Sanji descended like a performer, tray balanced with clinking glasses and sugared fruit.
Nearby, Robin lounged under a parasol, half-listening, half-watching. She hadn’t turned a page in minutes. The way Sawyer carried herself—too elegant for someone who had to survive.
“For the ladies,”
Sanji offered with a wink.
Zoro groaned.
“It’s training, not teatime.”
“Even warriors need refreshment. Unlike some people who just stand around brooding all day.”
“Unlike some people who don’t know when to shut up!”
Robin cuts through,
“What do you mean by ‘not far off’?”
“I learned it in a circus.”
Sanji arched a brow.
“You? You don’t strike me as a children’s entertainer.”
“Okay, ‘Circus’ is generous. It was a traveling show—music, stunts, fake fortunes. I used Haki to read emotions—pretended it was fate.”
Robin’s voice tightened.
“Manipulation through empathy.”
“It wasn’t meant to be cruel,”
Sawyer said.
“Even before I understood what I was doing, I was already doing it. If I dulled fear, boosted hope, people gave me what I needed. I was on the run and I had read some sappy novel. I thought it sounded smart.”
“That’s not smart. That’s naïve.”
Zoro scoffed, despite the flicker of growing respect.
“A scam artist with a yo-yo blade.”
“Hey, I didn’t have mentors lining up to teach me swordplay,”
Sawyer said.
“I learned from fire dancers. The rope-dart was cheap and easy to replace.”
She struck again, this time driving the blade deep.
No one said a word.
Sanji watched, lighting a new cigarette. Robin simply nodded. None of them looked at her any differently. Perhaps that surprised Sawyer the most.
Then, the next throw slipped. The rope hissed, blade arcing high—too high. Thunk
Zoro’s jaw tightened.
“That’s it. You’re done.”
“It was just a misfire!”
“And next time, you might hit someone. You’ve been at this all morning.”
“And moss head needs to go flex.”
Sanji teased.
Robin then added,
“Rest is part of training.”
Sawyer playfully sighed and went to retrieve the blade. The dart had skewered a wooden bucket, water bleeding into the rosemary.
“My bucket?!”
Usopp’s voice cracked from behind. He dropped beside the punctured timber like it was a fallen comrade.
“Vintage! Hand-carved! It held... History!”
Sawyer giggled.
“Chill, I’ll fix it.”
“Can you fix legacy?”
“No. But I can patch wood.”
“Fine,”
he sighed, theatrical as ever.
“To the workshop!”
He flung the door open like a curtain to his kingdom. Tools lined the walls, jars labeled in shaky script. A shelf above held a worn slingshot and a glowing Clima-Tact prototype.
Usopp’s gaze followed Sawyer’s, nodding proudly.
“Nami uses my upgraded version now, But I keep that one out of sentiment.”
He moved differently in here—less flustered mutters, no bravado. Just steady hands and purpose.
“Where’s the wood-filler?”
asked Sawyer.
Usopp moved to grab it—but stopped short as his body framed hers. His arm brushed her cheek, feather-light.
His breath hitched.
Hers followed.
The room held its breath.
Sawdust clung to his collar—sunbeams caught in his hair. He wasn’t posturing now—just real. Honest. Nervous.
He hovered over her, pulse loud in his ears—voice soft and cracking.
“I—I was going to—uh”
Sawyer looked up, cheeks nearly touching, and her lips parted to speak—but nothing.
He didn’t step back.
Neither did she.
Inches apart, held in place by everything unsaid. She could feel his—radiating warmth, tingling for his touch.
His gaze flicked to her mouth, then back to her eyes. The air between them buzzed, charged and fragile.
Her heart leaped.
Usopp expected Sawyer to step back.
But she stood there—quiet. That confidence he thought he saw? Gone. Replaced by something trembling as she closed her eyes—tilting her chin.
His brain lit up with panic and possibility. He didn’t move. He wanted to, but he was a gentleman—checking the edge of a cliff before jumping.
And then—