Nami's Perspective
I've sailed with liars my whole life. Pirates, merchants, fishermen—they all have their secrets and their stories. You learn to spot the tells: the slight pause before answering personal questions, the eyes that reveal calculation behind casual words, the details that change with each retelling.
Kai is different. He doesn't just lie—he obscures. Like navigating through mist, I catch glimpses of truth before it vanishes again.
"Far north," he'd said when I asked where he came from. His accent didn't match any northern island I'd ever encountered, and I've charted most of them. His strange devices—too advanced for even Water 7's shipwrights—told another story entirely. And sometimes, the way he looked at me... as if he already knew me, already had mapped the coastlines of my personality.
It should have made me keep my distance. In my position, trust is a luxury I can't afford. Arlong still holds my village hostage, and every treasure I collect brings me one step closer to their freedom. I shouldn't waste time wondering about some strange traveler with crimson hair and devices that shouldn't exist.
Yet here I am, sailing to a mythical island on nothing but an old map and his word.
The storm caught us by surprise. That alone was unusual—I can sense weather changes hours before they manifest. This was different, unnatural, as if the sea itself had decided to test us.
I was certain we would capsize. The waves were monstrous, punishing our small vessel from all sides. When I was nearly washed overboard, the safety line cutting painfully across my ribs as I slammed against the gunwale, I saw something change in Kai's expression.
He gripped the helm with one hand, and for a brief moment, his eyes took on a strange intensity. I couldn't see clearly through the rain, but something shifted in the atmosphere—not the weather itself, but the way it affected us. Suddenly we found openings where before there had been only chaos, paths through the tempest that shouldn't have existed.
Luck doesn't work that way. Not repeatedly, not with such perfect timing.
When the island appeared before us, materializing from the mist like a mirage made solid, I knew something wasn't right. Navigation is my specialty—islands don't simply appear where no island should be. Yet there it was, offering perfect shelter just when we needed it most.
I watched Kai as we approached the shore. He didn't seem surprised, merely... satisfied. As if confirming something he already suspected.
Dawn comes early at sea, even earlier when you're sleeping on an unfamiliar shore. I woke before sunrise, intending to check our damaged vessel while Kai still slept. The camp was empty, his bedroll neatly arranged as if he'd barely used it.
Movement near the shoreline caught my eye—a figure wading into the shallows. In the dim pre-dawn light, I recognized Kai's silhouette as he dove into the waters of the cove. Probably refreshing himself after our ordeal; I thought nothing of it until he emerged minutes later.
The rising sun cast its first rays across the beach, illuminating his form as he stood waist-deep in the water. What I saw made me freeze in place, ducking behind the remnants of our campfire.
A tail. Heart-shaped, crimson like his hair, extending from the base of his spine.
Not human. Not entirely.
He must have sensed something because he turned suddenly, scanning the beach. I remained motionless, barely breathing until he waded deeper, submerging himself before approaching shore again. When he emerged fully, the tail was hidden beneath hastily donned clothing.
I retreated silently to my bedroll, feigning sleep when he returned to camp. My mind raced with possibilities—fishman hybrid? Some variety of mink? Neither seemed right. Whatever Kai was, it was something I'd never encountered in all my travels across East Blue.
I chose not to confront him. Not yet. In my experience, secrets revealed too early make people defensive or dangerous. Better to observe, to collect more evidence before showing my hand. Besides, I had secrets of my own—who was I to demand transparency from others?
The Adam Wood discovery should have been the highlight of our expedition. Its value alone would have covered fully what I needed to free Cocoyasi Village. Yet I found myself distracted, watching Kai as he examined the trees with a familiarity that suggested prior knowledge, not discovery.
When we found the ruins, his interest shifted from commercial to scholarly with suspicious speed. I pretended to focus on the golden artifacts—and they were certainly valuable—but I noticed how he lingered over the stone inscriptions, fingers tracing symbols with recognition rather than confusion.
"Ancient civilization," he'd explained when I asked, his words plausible but his eyes revealing more. "Pre-dating the current World Government era."
He was documenting everything meticulously, but I noticed his notebook remained conspicuously angled away from my view. Whenever I approached, he would shift position slightly, maintaining pleasant conversation while ensuring I couldn't see his notes clearly.
Standard practice for someone with something to hide.
The monkey encounter revealed yet another layer. When the alpha male charged, Kai moved with practiced precision—not the panicked defense of a merchant or scholar, but the calculated efficiency of someone combat-trained. He subdued the creature without killing it, using techniques I'd only seen among specialized fighters.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" I asked afterward, keeping my tone casual.
"Necessity," he replied with that familiar careful smile. "Traveling alone teaches you to defend yourself."
Half-truths again. His movements were too refined for self-taught techniques.
Later, I watched him construct some kind of specialized compass from materials he claimed to have been carrying all along. The components looked unlike any navigational equipment I'd ever seen, with strange metallic elements that gleamed with unusual luster.
"Just something I prepared based on Thornhill's notes," he'd said when I inquired. The easy lie rolled off his tongue while his fingers assembled the device with practiced familiarity.
On our final night, watching him gaze across the misty landscape while he thought I slept, I considered confronting him directly. Demand answers about his origins, his tail, his impossible knowledge and stranger technology.
But something held me back.
In my years collecting treasure for Arlong, I've developed a sense for danger—a prickling awareness of threat that's kept me alive through countless close calls. Kai triggered no such warning. Despite his secrets, despite his obvious deceptions, I sensed no malice in him.
When he'd pulled me back aboard during the storm, his hands had been gentle despite their strength. When dividing the treasure we'd found, he'd been meticulously fair, even generous. And sometimes, when he thought I wasn't looking, I caught an expression of such profound loneliness on his face that it resonated with something deep within me—a recognition of shared isolation despite our very different circumstances.
The island moved overnight, confirming its impossible nature. As we sailed away the next morning, I studied Kai's profile against the horizon. He'd given me exactly what he promised—treasure, discovery, and safe return. Whatever secrets he kept hadn't interfered with our agreement.
Perhaps, for now, that was enough.