"Haki reflux can lead to your hand imploding." Kureha stated if it was a normal occurence.
"Implode," Jack repeated, slower this time. "You mean… inward."
"Yes," Kureha said pleasantly. Far too pleasantly. "Your arm caves in on itself. Bones fracture. Muscles tear. Blood vessels rupture. Very messy. Very painful. You probably won't die immediately, though. Which is unfortunate—for you."
Jack immediately clutched his right arm to his chest.
"I've grown rather attached to this one," he said, eyes narrowed with genuine concern. "I use it for drinking. And fencing. Mostly drinking."
Kureha closed her eyes.
She inhaled.
She exhaled.
Slow, measured breaths—because too much anger, she reminded herself, caused wrinkles. And she was a young woman. A very young woman of one hundred and twenty-four.
"How," she said calmly, turning to face him again, "did someone like you survive long enough to awaken Haki?"
Jack brightened. "Natural talent?"
Her eye twitched.
"Haki reflux," she said, jabbing a finger into his chest hard enough to make him stumble back a step, "is what happens when your willpower outpaces your body. You forced Armament Haki through muscles and bones that weren't conditioned to handle it."
She grabbed his arm without warning and twisted it just enough to make him hiss.
"You feel that?" she asked.
"Yes," Jack said quickly. "I feel that very much."
"That's backlash," Kureha continued. "Residual strain. If you try coating again without preparation, your arm won't just hurt—it will collapse."
Jack paled.
"Collapse like… dramatic collapse?" he asked. "Or catastrophic collapse?"
Kureha smiled.
The kind of smile that belonged on a gravestone. Jack felt very scared. He had used this arm for many things. He didn't want to lose it.
"There is a solution," she said.
Jack's shoulders sagged in relief. "Oh thank the sea."
"There is?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes."
"Oh, brilliant woman that you are," Jack said, bowing slightly despite his arm, "I knew I trusted the right—"
"But," Kureha added.
Jack froze.
Her grin widened. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.
Jack swallowed.
"This wouldn't happen to be the hard solution, would it?" he asked carefully.
Kureha leaned in, face inches from his.
"There is no easy solution."
Jack groaned. "Of course there isn't."
"You make your body ready," Kureha said, straightening. "Strength. Endurance. Control. Only then do you practice Haki again."
Jack stared at her.
"…That's it?"
"Yes."
"That's the solution?"
"Yes."
Jack's face fell. "I already figured that part out."
Kureha's calm snapped.
"If you figured it out," she barked, "you wouldn't be standing here asking me if there's a manual."
Jack brightened slightly. "So there is a manual?"
She threw a book at his head.
Jack ducked. The book embedded itself in the wall with a thud.
"Haki isn't learned by reading!" Kureha snapped. "It's forged through repetition and strain. You're a swordsman, aren't you?"
Jack nodded cautiously.
"Then start with your sword," she said. "Coat it. Briefly. Controlled. Let the weapon bear the burden while your body adapts. I am not even a swordsman yet I know more about it!"
Jack tilted his head. "So… gentle stabbing?"
Kureha kicked him. Hard.
Jack flew backward, slammed into the door, and tumbled out into the snow in a very undignified heap.
"OUT!" she shouted, slamming the door shut behind him. "And if you try to force Haki again before your body's ready, I'll personally finish the implosion myself!"
Jack lay in the snow, staring at the sky.
"…She's charming. Thank the seas I am leaving, otherwise I might fall for her youth-ness." he muttered.
A few hours later, the Black Pearl set sail once more.
Snow drifted off the deck as the crew waved their temporary goodbyes.
Ginny stood at the doorway of the shack, wrapped in thick furs, Bonney clinging sleepily to her shoulder. Robin stood beside her, bundled up, eyes soft but resolute.
"Come back," Ginny said quietly.
Jack tipped his hat. "We always do."
Robin hesitated, then waved. Bonney waved too—enthusiastically, nearly falling over.
Gibbs caught Jack watching them a moment longer than usual.
When the island finally faded into the white horizon, the sea swallowed the silence.
Gibbs broke it first.
"So," he said, resting his hands on the railing, "where to now, Captain?"
Jack opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"…Good question."
Augur leaned against the mast, cleaning his rifle with practiced precision. "We need to restock. Food. Ammunition. And secure the gold."
Gibbs nodded grimly. "Leaving it piled on deck is an invitation to disaster."
Pintel perked up. "We could have a secret island."
Ragetti gasped. "A treasure island!"
Jack's eyes lit up. "With traps."
"And skulls," Ragetti added.
"And maybe—"
"No," Gibbs cut in sharply. "Absolutely not. We are not hiding treasure like children in a fairy tale."
Jack sighed. "You ruin all the fun."
"And you ruin all the plans," Gibbs shot back.
Jack rubbed his aching arm, face twisting slightly.
"…Also, I need to fix whatever that old hag did to me."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "You mean Haki reflux?"
Jack pointed at him. "See? Even you say it like it's obvious."
He reached into his coat and pulled out the compass.
Pintel leaned over immediately. "What's that thing, Captain?"
Jack flipped it open.
The needle spun.
Pintel frowned. "It's broken."
Gibbs leaned in—and stiffened.
"…Captain," he said quietly.
Jack watched the needle settle.
Pointing.
"Jack," Gibbs repeated, voice tighter now.
Jack grinned. "We've got a heading."
"That compass doesn't point north," Gibbs said.
Jack blinked.
Then paused. Then laughed.
"Oh," he said. "That's right."
He snapped it shut.
"We're not going north," Jack continued cheerfully. "So why would it point there?"
Gibbs stared at him.
"…You trust that thing with our lives?"
Jack tucked the compass away and turned toward the helm.
"Of course not," he said. "I trust myself."
He waved them off with a flick of his wrist.
"Now—onto your tasks. Bugger off."