The door to the brig slammed shut behind them, the metal reverberating through the corridor like the final note of a funeral bell. Vice Admiral Casimir led the way up the narrow stairwell, his polished boots striking each step with the measured rhythm of a man who had climbed these stairs a thousand times and would climb them a thousand more. Kalamaru hung at his side now—not in his hand, but sheathed and belted to his waist, the obsidian-black scabbard a dark stain against his ivory-white coat. The blade's weight felt wrong on his hip, foreign, but he did not remove it. He would not give Kaburo Gusaki the satisfaction of seeing him uncomfortable.
Petra Ven followed two steps behind, her soft-soled boots making no sound on the metal stairs, her dark eyes fixed on Casimir's back. Her hands remained shoved in the pockets of her oversized olive-green sweater, her fingers wrapped around the small vial of her own venom that she wore as a necklace. She did not expect to need it. But she had learned long ago that expecting nothing was the safest way to live.
Alejandro Fuego brought up the rear, his flowing white robes billowing around him despite the still air of the stairwell. The CP-0 agent's mask caught the light from the lanterns mounted on the walls, the featureless surface reflecting the flames in distorted, shifting patterns. His amber-yellow eyes burned through the eyeholes, tracking every shadow, every corner, every potential threat.
They emerged onto the deck.
The wind hit them first—salt-heavy, sharp, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing against the dock. The sky above was grey, thick with clouds that had rolled in from the east, and the light had taken on the flat, washed-out quality of late afternoon. Sailors moved across the deck in their white uniforms, coiling ropes, adjusting rigging, checking the mooring lines. They gave the three officers a wide berth, their eyes flicking to the CP-0 agent's mask and then away.
Alejandro Fuego broke the silence. His voice emerged from behind the mask, low and measured, each word placed with the care of a man who had been trained to never waste a syllable.
"Your plan," he said. "There are risks."
Casimir glanced over his shoulder, his good eye catching Alejandro's masked face. His jaw flexed once, twice. "Of course there are."
He turned back and continued walking.
The gangplank stretched out before them—a long, wooden bridge connecting the ship's deck to the stone dock below. The wood creaked under Casimir's weight as he stepped onto it, and the sound echoed off the water. The dock itself was a wide expanse of grey stone, stained dark by decades of seawater and engine grease. Ships lined both sides, their masts rising like a forest of bare trees, their rigging clinking in the wind.
Casimir reached the end of the gangplank and stopped.
His boot hovered over the stone for a moment, and then he set it down. His jaw flexed. His good eye narrowed. His hand tightened on Kalamaru's hilt.
Admiral Ryokugyu stood on the dock at the end of the plank, looking up at them.
He wore his standard Marine uniform—the white shirt open at the collar, the green-lined jacket draped over his shoulders, the dark trousers tucked into polished boots. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the smoke curling upward and dissipating into the grey sky. His sunglasses reflected the ship's white hull, hiding his eyes, but his posture—relaxed, almost casual—spoke of a man who had nothing to fear and knew it.
He looked up at Casimir, and a small smile played at the corner of his lips.
"Vice Admiral," Ryokugyu said, his voice smooth as oil, sharp as a blade. "It is good to see you." He gestured with the cigarette, sending a trail of smoke drifting across the dock. "Walk with me. I have questions."
Casimir's teeth ground together. The muscle in his jaw jumped. He forced the word out through clenched teeth. "Admiral Ryokugyu."
He stepped off the gangplank and onto the dock. Petra Ven followed, her feet silent on the stone. Alejandro Fuego followed her, his robes billowing in the wind, his mask a white ghost against the grey sky.
The four men—and one woman—began to walk along the dock.
Ryokugyu fell into step beside Casimir, his pace unhurried, his shoulders relaxed. He pulled on his cigarette, the tip glowing orange, and let the smoke curl from his nostrils. The dock stretched out before them, lined with warehouses, supply crates, and the skeletal frames of ships undergoing repairs. Sailors and dock workers moved among the clutter, their voices rising and falling in the familiar rhythm of labor.
Ryokugyu glanced at Casimir, the cigarette held between his fingers. "Give me an update."
Casimir's jaw worked side to side. He kept his gaze fixed on the dock ahead, on the warehouses, on anything but the Admiral's sunglasses. "We are standing by for the King's arrival," he said, "and his payment of the heavenly tax."
Ryokugyu's eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. He took another drag from his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and let it out in a slow, deliberate stream.
"That is interesting," he said. "I hear that they are not able to make the payment. And you gave them a week's bereavement."
Casimir stopped.
His boots scraped against the stone, and the sound echoed off the warehouse walls. He turned, his good eye locking onto Ryokugyu's sunglasses, his hand still resting on Kalamaru's hilt. The blade hummed—a low, sub-vocal vibration that Casimir could feel in his teeth.
Ryokugyu stopped too. He took one last drag from his cigarette, dropped it to the stone, and crushed it under his heel. The ash spread across the grey surface like a small, dark flower.
"I did," Casimir said. His voice was flat, cold, each word a challenge. "My orders are to seize the island and prepare for a permanent presence. Collecting the tax is secondary. Purging the island of Kaido's influence takes priority."
Ryokugyu's smile faded. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the easy-going mask slipped, revealing something harder underneath.
"Wrong, Vice Admiral." His voice was quiet, but it carried more weight than a shout. "If you want to purge the island, then you must show the people what is at stake when the World Government is challenged."
Casimir opened his mouth—
Ryokugyu cut him off, his voice rising just enough to silence the Vice Admiral without raising to a shout. "Your approach is flawed." He stepped closer, close enough that Casimir could smell the tobacco on his breath. "We will begin seizing the citizens of this traitorous island. We will show them the cost of challenging the most powerful force on the planet."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"Tell your people to coordinate with my contingent. We will begin collecting the citizens and transporting them to Mary Geoise."
Casimir glared. His good eye narrowed to a slit, and the muscle in his jaw jumped so hard it looked like it might tear. His hand tightened on Kalamaru's hilt, and for a moment—just a moment—the blade's hum grew louder.
Then he let out a breath. Slow. Controlled.
"You heard him, Rear Admiral Petra Ven."
Petra Ven nodded, her dark eyes unreadable. "Yes, sir."
She turned and walked away, her soft-soled boots silent on the stone, her oversized sweater hanging off her wiry frame. She did not run, but her pace was quick, purposeful, carrying her toward a cluster of officers gathered near a warehouse door. The spines along her back lay flat beneath her sweater, but her hands—buried in her pockets—were clenched into fists.
Ryokugyu watched her go, his head tilted slightly, his sunglasses reflecting her retreating form. He nodded, a small gesture of approval, and turned back to Casimir.
The two men stood face to face on the dock, the distance between them no more than an arm's length. The wind tugged at their coats, and the grey sky pressed down on them like a weight.
Ryokugyu's posture relaxed. He reached into his jacket, pulled out another cigarette, and lit it with a flick of his thumb. The flame danced for a moment, casting orange light across his face, and then it was gone.
"Let's talk about this meeting with the King," he said. He glanced at Alejandro Fuego, his sunglasses catching the reflection of the CP-0 agent's white mask. "Tell me everything you know."
The three men began to walk again, their footsteps echoing off the stone, the water lapping against the dock, the grey sky pressing down on Kushi Island like a promise of violence yet to come.
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