Hours later, Gibbs spotted an island. It sat low on the horizon, peaceful and green.
Jack's grin returned.
"Perfect," Jack said. "Now we do what pirates are supposed to do."
Gibbs crossed his arms. "And what is that?"
Jack raised his chin. "Plunder. As per the sacred pirate code."
"What code?" Ragetti asked.
Jack waved vaguely. "The code."
Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "You're making it up aren't you?."
Jack smiled. "It's a living document."
The ship angled toward the island.
They docked on a quiet beach where waves lapped gently at the sand. Palm trees swayed. A path led toward a small village of simple houses and clean streets.
The four of them stood in a line and stared at each other.
No one moved.
No one knew what to do next.
Gibbs broke first. "How did you two survive before this?"
Pintel shrugged. "We mugged people."
Jack patted his shoulder. "Excellent. We'll mug them."
Gibbs frowned. "We're plundering, not mugging."
Jack corrected himself with confidence. "We'll mug them. Just on a larger scale."
They walked toward the village together.
They looked terrible. Salt-stained clothes, bruises, grime, soot. Jack still had a faint smell of rum clinging to him. Gibbs looked like he'd aged three years in one day. Pintel and Ragetti looked like they'd been assembled from spare parts.
The village was quiet.
The villagers looked at them.
Then they kept walking, calm, unafraid.
Jack whispered, "They don't seem very intimidated."
Gibbs pointed at a woman carrying a basket. "Pintel. Rob her."
Pintel marched forward, puffed out his chest, and tried to widen his eyes into a threatening glare.
"Hey you woman, give me your jewellery or else-"
The woman slapped him.
The sound cracked across the street. Pintel's head snapped to the side and he toppled backward.
Pintel groaned, holding his cheek. "She's strong."
Ragetti gasped. "She hit you like you owed her money."
Gibbs raised his flintlock out of habit. The weapon looked impressive at a glance.
The woman screamed.
Several villagers turned sharply.
Gibbs remembered the gun was empty and lowered it with quiet shame.
Ragetti leaned toward Jack. "They still don't look scared. They look angry."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Yes."
Gibbs hissed, "They're angry because you told him to rob her."
Jack looked at him as if this was a surprising concept. "We're trying to rob them. Why wouldn't they be angry?"
Gibbs frowned. "People usually show fear first."
Jack opened his mouth to answer.
A calm voice spoke from behind them.
"Is the ship near the beach yours?"
All four turned.
A man stood there with a sword strapped to his waist, posture relaxed, eyes calm. He didn't look afraid. He didn't look angry. He looked mildly inconvenienced, the way a person looked when someone tracked mud onto a clean floor.
Jack stared.
Gibbs stiffened.
Pintel pushed himself up, cheek still red, pride still wounded.
Ragetti reached for Pintel's sleeve. "Don't."
Pintel didn't listen.
He marched forward as if the slap had fueled his courage.
"We're pirates!" Pintel declared loudly. "Caribbean Pirates, remember the name! We're here to rob you! So everyone please take out whatever valuables you have if you don't want to get hurt!"
The man blinked slowly.
Then he rubbed his eyes.
"Young men," he said softly, "are reckless."
His hand moved.
Pintel's face met his palm.
Pintel dropped like a sack of rice.
Ragetti screamed, "HE KILLED HIM!"
The man glanced down. "He's sleeping."
Jack raised both hands. "We surrender!"
Gibbs followed immediately. Ragetti copied them, hands trembling.
Jack bowed slightly. "We're hungry. Our ship needs urgent repairs. We'll leave after. Please help us."
The man stared at them for a long, silent moment.
"You misunderstand," he said.
And then the world went unpleasant.
----
When Jack Sparrow imagined plundering, he imagined shouting, dramatic poses, and people throwing valuables at his feet in terror. He imagined heroic villainy. He imagined the sort of scene that looked good from the right angle.
What he got was pain.
Jack found himself tied up with rope that felt tighter every time he breathed. Gibbs was tied beside him, face pressed into the dirt, quietly seething. Ragetti sat a little farther away, knees pulled up, whispering prayers to any god that might accept late applications. Pintel lay on his side, snoring.
The villagers stood in a loose ring around them. Some looked angry. Some looked curious. A few looked annoyed in the way people looked when their peaceful day had been interrupted by loud nonsense.
Jack tested the rope with a small wiggle. It didn't give.
"This is a misunderstanding," Jack announced.
No one responded.
Gibbs spoke through clenched teeth. "Stop talking."
Jack whispered, "We're pirates. Talking is part of it."
Gibbs hissed, "Pintel tried rob a woman and he got slapped."
Jack frowned. "That wasn't part of the sacred code."
"The sacred code," Gibbs muttered, "is going to get me killed."
Ragetti looked around nervously. "Do you think they're going to throw us in the sea?"
Jack said, "They won't throw us in the sea. They'll feed us. To the sea kings."
Gibbs turned his head slightly. "Why would they feed us?"
Jack smiled. "Because the sea kings are hungry. And pirates taste good."
Gibbs stared at him as if he had discovered a new species of stupidity.
The calm man walked forward. He moved like someone who had no reason to hurry. His sword remained sheathed at his side. His eyes swept over the four of them in a slow, assessing way.
Jack tried to look dignified while tied up. He lifted his chin.
It came out looking like he was trying not to sneeze.
"You," the man said, looking at Jack, "are the captain?"
Jack hesitated. "Yes."
The man glanced at Gibbs. "And you are?"
Gibbs replied, "Regretting my decisions."
The man nodded as if that was a valid occupation.
Jack cleared his throat. "We didn't mean to cause trouble."
The villagers murmured.
A woman spoke sharply. "They tried to rob me!"
Jack smiled at her. "Yes."
Gibbs whispered, "No."
Jack continued, "But we're hungry. We need repairs. Our ship—"
"You are pirates," the man interrupted.
Jack nodded. "Yes."
"Pirates do not make requests," the man said calmly.
Jack frowned. "They don't?"
The man looked at him. "No."
Jack glanced at Gibbs. "Since when?"
Gibbs whispered, "Since always."
Jack looked back at the man. "I'm new."
The man's expression didn't change, but something faint shifted in his eyes. Annoyance, perhaps. He turned slightly and spoke to the villagers. "What should be done?"
A man in the crowd spat. "Throw them out."
Another said, "Tie them to the trees until Marines come."
Someone else suggested, "Hit them again."
Jack flinched at that last one.
Ragetti whimpered.
The calm man considered the options without hurry.
Jack decided to try one last time.
"We're not dangerous," Jack said quickly. "We're just… very unlucky."
Gibbs muttered, "Speak for yourself."
Ragetti nodded rapidly. "Yes. Unlucky. Terribly unlucky."
The calm man's gaze drifted to Pintel, still snoring. Then to Ragetti, sweating. Then to Gibbs, tense and sharp-eyed. Then to Jack's cutlass, still strapped at his waist even after being tied.
The man's eyes stayed on the cutlass a moment longer.
Jack noticed and immediately tried to look like he understood swordsmanship.
He did not.
He tried to adjust his posture and nearly fell sideways.
Gibbs whispered, "Stop moving."
Jack whispered, "I'm trying to look respectable as a swordsman."
"You're tied up," Gibbs replied. "You look like a fish out of water."
The villagers kept arguing. Their voices rose and fell.
The calm man listened without reacting.
Then he sighed.
It was a quiet sigh. It carried the weight of responsibility, of restraint, of someone who had lived long enough to know that the world often delivered trouble in ridiculous packages.
He looked at Jack again.
Jack swallowed.
The man's expression remained calm, but his thoughts were not.
A boy. A captain. Barely more than a child. Dirty clothes, thin arms, and eyes that had seen something hard. Not the eyes of a spoiled bandit. Not the eyes of a proud warrior.
And that cutlass.
Not a great blade.
Still, the boy wore it as if it mattered, as if it meant something. As if he believed the sword was a key to the world.
A quiet voice stirred in the back of the man's mind.
He had heard it before in different forms: instinct, caution, experience.
It spoke now with uncomfortable certainty.
This boy could go far.
Far enough to bring disaster.
The man's fingers twitched once at his side, a small habit. His own training had taught him to avoid unnecessary conflict. His life in this village had taught him to keep the peace. He had built a dojo here, trained children, watched them grow. He had chosen stillness over storm.
Taking pirates in invited storm.
Taking this boy in invited more.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the village children peeking from behind doorways, curiosity glowing in their faces. He imagined them watching pirates get beaten in the street. He imagined them learning the wrong lesson from it.
He imagined Marines arriving. He imagined blood.
He imagined this boy escaping anyway, because boys like this often did, and returning later as a worse man.
He looked back at Jack's face.
The boy wasn't begging now. He wasn't posturing. He looked tired. Hungry. Confused. Still arrogant in a strange way, like someone who refused to admit the world could truly corner him.
The inner voice returned.
Teach him.
It felt foolish.
It felt dangerous.
It felt necessary.
The man exhaled slowly through his nose.
He spoke to the villagers.
"I will take them."
The villagers fell quiet.
A woman frowned. "Koushirou—"
"I will take responsibility," he said calmly, voice leaving no room for argument. "Bring them to my dojo."
Murmurs spread. Surprise. Doubt. Trust.
No one liked it, but they respected him. They respected the sword at his side and the quiet authority he carried.
He looked down at Jack one final time.
Jack blinked up at him. "Thank you."
Koushiro's calm expression did not change.
"You misunderstand," he said softly. "This is not mercy."
Jack nodded quickly. "Of course. It's… what is it?"