"Cobra's really giving Vivi to me? Just to repay that debt?"
Ren's voice was sharp, his words fired off like bullets. "You people can't possibly be ignorant of the value of a Logia-type Devil Fruit user. And she's your princess, the only direct heir of your royal bloodline."
He found it incomprehensible that King Cobra would let Vivi go so easily.
But Pell's reply forced him to realize how narrow his own perspective was.
Pell halted, bowed slightly, and calmly relayed the king's message.
"The king and the royal family possess not only privilege, but responsibility."
"If sacrifice is required to overcome hardship… then why should it not be us?"
"There are things in this world that stand above all else."
When Pell said those words, his eyes shone with an unwavering light.
Ren fell silent. Suddenly, he understood why Alabasta in the original timeline had endured Crocodile's oppression yet never lost faith in its king.
Even after relentless waves of propaganda and disaster, the people of Yuba still believed.
Honestly, if rulers and leaders everywhere shared Cobra's sense of duty, Ren thought there'd be no need for him to build the order he sought.
Perhaps even Keya wouldn't have died.
So this is a true benevolent king…
For once, Ren felt genuine respect for a man he had never met.
He didn't believe such absolute compassion was necessarily right—it could easily be exploited and turned into a curse—but it didn't stop him from admiring it.
It was like seeing a kindhearted fool who helped others out of pure goodwill, and for that reason suffered endless deception and pain.
You might think him naive, stupid, even pathetic—but deep down, you can't help but admire him.
Because you can't do it yourself, you end up respecting those who can.
And, after all—
To unite thought and action has never been simple.
Most people can talk about ideals, but when it comes to action, they falter.
Take something as trivial as running daily for thirty days.
Half the people quit by the third day. Thirty percent give up by the tenth. Ninety-nine percent collapse by the twentieth.
Only the truly disciplined few reach the thirtieth day.
In that same spirit—
Vivi had now moved into a room on the first deck, accompanied by her beloved Karoo.
The space had been gently decorated, giving it the cozy feel of a young girl's bedroom.
Naturally, it was Nami and Nojiko who helped with the decorations.
Their attitudes toward Vivi were… complicated. On one hand, they pitied her experiences and admired her resolve; on the other, their feelings were more tangled.
For reasons Ren couldn't quite pinpoint, both sisters had begun appearing on the third deck—the captain's quarters—with increasing frequency.
Their wardrobes had changed too.
Ren couldn't help but feel like a "catfish dropped into a lazy fish pond—suddenly stirring the whole school into motion."
Of course, there were no actual fish involved; it was just a metaphor.
I'm not a playboy, Ren thought wryly. Just trying to gather more wings beneath me.
He muttered inwardly while gently massaging a pair of small, white-socked feet in his hands.
Don't get the wrong idea—
It was a purely professional massage.
Just like when Nami massaged him, the reverse was equally valid.
Especially now that the Enlightenment's third deck had been expanded to include a swimming pool.
Nami and Nojiko often went up there to swim or sunbathe, though Vivi rarely joined.
Today was no different—except the weather changed too fast.
From clear golden skies to a gloomy drizzle in minutes. The sisters came down quickly.
Nojiko went to prepare dinner.
Nami, however, lingered—complaining she was cold, curling up beside Ren, and demanding he warm her feet.
And so…
The current "prison guard" scene was born.
Ren didn't mind at all. Captainly dignity? That didn't cross his mind.
He was merely serving his crew with dedication and selflessness—spreading warmth, not favoritism.
At least, that was the excuse he gave himself.
Every now and then, though, his eyes wandered upward.
Nami was wearing a fitted desert-style dress today, modified in just the right ways to make it subtly, dangerously alluring.
A thick weather tome rested on her lap as she lay on the couch, arms pale as snow along its sides.
"Why'd you stop?"
She pressed the book against her chest, looking down at him with mischievous eyes.
Under the long lashes, her gaze shimmered like rippling water. Her lips were soft, pink, and inviting; her orange hair was tied in a messy bun atop her head.
Even under dim light, she shone like a jewel.
"Too beautiful. Got distracted."
Ren raised a calm thumbs-up, then resumed his work.
"Vivi really joined us?"
Nami asked casually, "Six point one billion. You're that generous? How about forgiving my debt too?"
Her tone was light—but there was a faint trace of jealousy hidden beneath.
"Eh?"
Ren chuckled. "It's just the best solution given the circumstances.
Unless, of course, you'd rather we declare a full-scale war and annihilate a kingdom?"
"…"
Nami thought for a moment, then shook her head. "They've suffered enough."
At this point in time, Nami was much like her original self—greedy for money, yes, but never heartless.
Just like before, she'd risk her life without hesitation to help Vivi.
That came not only from her trust in the crew, but from her own inherent kindness.
Even now, knowing everything Alabasta had endured, she would never condone waging a war for 6.1 billion.
Especially under Ren's command—where "wiping out a kingdom" could easily turn into "erasing an entire people."
Some traits never change.
"Then it's settled."
Ren shrugged, pressing a little harder. "We're short on manpower anyway.
That Logia Fruit has great potential—and you've seen Crocodile's power firsthand.
You also know Vivi's nature. She's worth training. I even have plans that might involve her."
"Fine."
Nami drew her feet back, stood, and stretched lazily.
She picked up the book again, half-covering her face, but her eyes—bright and liquid—peeked over the top.
"I'm the first one, you know."
She blinked playfully, almost like an empress staking her claim, then turned to check the ship's course.
So that's what this is…
Ren pondered for a moment.
A declaration of sovereignty?
Probably not that dramatic.
Maybe… she's jealous?
He wasn't sure.
After all, the Nami from the original timeline had never shown signs of romance. In both lives, he'd been single, so this was unfamiliar territory.
He decided not to overthink it and headed for the side room next to the lounge.
The third deck had originally been one massive chamber, but after Nami and the others remodeled it, it now had several separate spaces: a lounge, a workshop for devices like the Advanced Decomposition Machine, a large bedroom, and a balcony corridor.
The smallest room, however, was the training chamber—where the Imagination Helmet was used.
At that moment—
Zoro lay on a red-and-white bed, the helmet fitted snugly over his head.
Or rather—
He was in the Imaginarium: Virtual World!
Crocodile was an ambitious warlord, a man defined by strength—vision, decisiveness, courage—he possessed them all.
His only flaw was arrogance.
But when faced with an opponent who could utterly crush him—whose methods of victory he could scarcely comprehend—
What arrogance could remain?
Under Ren's persuasion, Crocodile finally took the bait.
He didn't ask for resurrection or favor. He simply wanted to be granted true death when his use was over—eternal rest at last.
"Why sleep in life, when death grants endless slumber?"
Except in his case, it was: "Busy in life, denied peace in death."
Given that, his decision was understandable.
For a warrior like Zoro, a powerful opponent was as alluring as gold.
Once Ren explained, Zoro volunteered as the second test subject.
Beep!
The sci-fi-styled helmet emitted a sharp tone. Zoro's body jerked; every muscle tensed.
For an instant, killing intent flooded the chamber as his eyes snapped open.
Then, just as quickly, it faded—he realized he was back in reality.
He sat up, removed the helmet, and pressed a hand to his neck, as though still feeling the slice of Crocodile's Desert Spada severing his head.
"Died… nine times?"
Ren's voice came from the doorway. He had installed a forced logout in the Imaginarium—after nine consecutive deaths, the system automatically ejected the user to prevent mental collapse.
The simulation of death was based on Ren's own memory—
And as someone who had truly died once and clawed his way back, no one understood the feeling better than him.
That was why the experience was terrifyingly real.
Too real.
Repeated death in such short succession could permanently damage a person's mind.
Only by setting a strict limit could he ensure safety.
Clearly, Zoro had just been kicked out by the "anti-addiction system."
The green-haired swordsman opened his mouth, but no words came.
He seemed shaken—the mind remembered death, but the body did not.
That dissonance left him pale and disoriented.
He quickly began steadying his breathing, centering his spirit.
After a long silence, Zoro finally spoke bitterly. "The first round, I almost won… but in the end, I still lost.
After that, I just kept dying—again and again. No way to win. So that's… your opponent, huh?"
Nine deaths.
Zoro had used every technique, every strategy—some even inspired by Ren's own tactics.
And still, he lost.