So there I was, back in my "cozy" bed, contemplating the ceiling cracks like they were an ancient prophecy.
Footsteps echoed down the hall—heavy ones. Definitely not Hana. Maybe her mother? Though, given Joe's age, my hopes for an attractive visitor were dwindling fast.
As for my wounds? Still sucked, but they sucked a little less. I could probably walk today if I really tried… not far, though because my feet felt like I'd gone dancing barefoot on a bed of glass shards.
The door creaked open, and Joe walked in, carrying a wooden box in one hand, wearing his usual expression, but with the added bonus of slightly softer eyes. Oh, probably because he smelled like he'd had a drink.
"Awake," he grumbled, coming up to me, and then sat down and placed the box next to me. "Good. Time to change the bandages."
I groaned, but didn't argue. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up, grimacing as the movement yanked at my half-healed cuts.
Joe knelt beside me, rummaging through the box like a grumpy medic. He pulled out a fresh roll of bandages and a jar of something that smelled like every bad life choice mixed into a potion.
"Healing faster than I thought," he muttered, peeling off the old bandages with all the gentleness of a barbarian. "Guess you're not as fragile as you look."
"Thanks," I gritted out. That's exactly the kind of encouragement I needed to start my day.
While he worked, I took in the room. Still the same cracked walls, same dust-covered everything. But the air felt lighter today. Or maybe that was just the scent of food wafting in from the hallway, which my stomach immediately voted as Most Interesting Thing in the house.
Right on cue, it let out a deep, desperate growl.
"Hana cooked," Joe said, not looking up. "She was upset last time. So you're eating, no excuses."
"Ah… okay." I mumbled. Not because I disagreed—I wasn't about to reject food—but because the fact that she cared was… kind of nice? Not what I expected from her.
Weird. Not used to that.
"By the way," I said, "Hana mentioned her mom. Never heard her, though."
Joe secured the last of the bandages with a sharp tug—possibly as punishment for asking personal questions.
"Works on a farm in the next village. Gone most of the time."
"Doesn't bother you that she's never around?"
Joe shrugged. "She makes good money. And we're not married anymore." He paused, then added, "It's easier to survive together."
Oh. Okay. That conversation went from casual to let's not dig too deep real fast. Time for another topic change.
"So… Hana's hair."
Joe raised an eyebrow.
"The pink. Normal around here, or this is how she expresses herself?"
"Ask her yourself. And your hair is also not typical." He stood up and motioned toward the door. "Now get moving. Someone is waiting for you."
"Who?"
"The elder."
Nothing about that sounded like it'd end in free dessert, but whatever. With Joe's help, I staggered to my feet. It was exactly as bad as expected—walking felt like stepping on knives, but I gritted my teeth and hobbled along, gripping the wall like it was my emotional support pillar.
We made it to the dining room, where a dim lantern barely lit the place. At the table sat a gray-haired man with a beard so perfectly trimmed he could've been a wise old mentor in a fantasy university. The dude had serious sage vibes. His eyes studied me like I was a new artifact.
Joe gave a quick nod. "Allen, this is Elder Thomas. Head of the village."
Thomas smiled—warm, but tired. "Good to meet you. Joe's been telling me about your… adventures."
"Oh, yeah?" I plopped down in my chair, my legs tired from life, and turned to the elder. "Thank you for letting me stay in the village. Didn't mean to get into trouble."
Thomas chuckled dryly. "Trouble doesn't need an invitation. It finds its way here just fine."
I frowned. "That bad?"
"Oh, I don't even know where to start. But mostly? The war."
"The war?" I asked in surprise.
Like what, a war? That is definitely one of the most unexpected things I could hear in this situation.
Why is that not just some peaceful village?
He tilted his head. "You don't know?"
How would I know?
Oh sure, let me just check my nonexistent newspaper. I still didn't even know which ocean I was in.
But, I gotta keep playing my character
"Things were quiet back home. Didn't really follow the news."
"Hah. Lucky you. Two idiots started a war, but they're too evenly matched. So now they're just fighting until one collapses from exhaustion. Meanwhile, we get taxed to feed their armies. Oh, and because they're too focused on their pissing contest, they forgot to protect their borders. So now we have pirates."
I exhaled. "Yikes. Yeah, that's rough."
"Sure is. And since you won't be staying long—where are you heading?"
Honestly, 10 minutes ago I was planning to stay here, but the war...
"Grand Line."
"But, what is the reason?"
"I read a book about it, and I want to see all those crazy places."
Thomas's eyebrows shot up. "Well, young blood really knows no fear."
Before I could respond, voices drifted in from outside. Joe sighed.
"They're fast."
He pushed himself up and headed to the door. The second he cracked it open, a deep voice asked:
"So, where's the brat?"
Oh great. That's always a fun way to be greeted.
"In the kitchen," Joe muttered.
The door swung wider, and three guys stepped in—two younger men, and one very not-young man with a rifle slung across his back.
I resisted the urge to groan. Because of course today wasn't going to stay peaceful.