Chapter 148

The Red Force sliced through a sea of molten sapphire under a sky blushed with the last hues of sunset. Lanterns strung along the rigging cast warm, bobbing pools of light on the deck, painting dancing shadows as the ship rode the gentle swell. The air hummed with post-dinner contentment – the rich aroma of Lucky Roux's stew mingling with salt and damp wood. Most of the crew had gathered amidships: Lucky Roux himself leaned against a barrel, patting his stomach; Yasopp and Limejuice shared a flask near the capstan; Bonk Punch tapped a soft rhythm on his namesake instrument; Monster and Gab sat cross-legged like overgrown children, Building Snake quietly mended a net nearby, Hongo sipped tea, and Gab attempted to teach Monster a complex knot. Benn Beckman, as ever, stood sentinel near the helm, a silhouette against the deepening twilight, the ember of his cigarette a watchful red eye. Shanks, perched on a coil of thick anchor chain, strummed a worn mandolin, a contented smile on his face. Marya observed from her usual vantage point near the quarterdeck railing, a silent figure wrapped in the fading light, her expression one of detached observation.

"Right then, lads!" Shanks called out, his voice warm and carrying easily. "Sun's down, bellies full... time for tradition!" He launched into a well-loved shanty, his voice a rich baritone that rolled over the deck like comforting thunder:

"Oh, the waves roll high and the winds do blow,

To Elbaph's shores we're bound-o!

With a hold full o' treasure and a jolly crew,

The finest ship a-sailin' the blue-o!"

The crew erupted. Lucky Roux's booming bass joined in, Yasopp added a reedy tenor harmony, Limejuice whistled sharply, Bonk Punch intensified his drumming, and even Monster and Gab offered enthusiastic, if gravelly, approximations of the lyrics. Building Snake hummed while he worked, Hongo tapped his foot, and a rare, faint smile touched Benn's lips. It was rough, hearty, and full of the soul of the sea.

Jelly Squish, drawn by the sudden explosion of sound and camaraderie, wobbled excitedly near Bonk Punch's drum. His starry eyes were wide with delight. "Singy time! Bloop!" he chirped, bouncing in time. He listened intently for a beat, trying to find his place. As the chorus swelled again – "Heave ho, me hearties, heave ho!" – Jelly took a deep, wobbly breath and unleashed his contribution with maximum enthusiasm:

"BLOOOOOOOOOP!"

It wasn't just loud. It was profoundly, catastrophically off-key. A sonic dissonance that cut through the harmony like a rusty saw. It landed squarely between "Heave" and "ho," shattering the rhythm like glass. Bonk Punch fumbled a beat. Yasopp choked on his note. Limejuice's whistle died in a sputter. Monster blinked, confused. The hearty chorus stuttered, stumbled, and collapsed into a wave of groans and laughter.

"Jelly, mate!" Yasopp chuckled, wiping his eyes. "You gotta follow the tune, not attack it!"

"Bloop?" Jelly tilted his head, utterly perplexed. "But... loud singy? Like happy shout!"

Shanks laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Can't fault the enthusiasm! But maybe... a touch less volume on the 'bloop,' eh?" He strummed a thoughtful chord, his gaze drifting towards Marya, still a silent observer. A mischievous glint sparked in his eye. "Seems we need a soloist to guide our wayward chorus! Marya! Your turn! Show us how it's done!"

Marya stiffened. A flicker of something akin to panic crossed her stoic features before being swiftly masked. "Unnecessary," she stated flatly, turning slightly away. "I'm just watching."

"Aw, come on, lass!" Lucky Roux boomed. "Don't be shy!"

"Bet you've got pipes like a Siren!" Yasopp added with a grin.

"Singy! Singy!" Jelly bounced enthusiastically towards her.

The combined peer pressure – the crew's hopeful faces, Jelly's bouncing insistence, Shanks' expectant grin – was an unfamiliar siege. Marya's usual defenses – watching without participating – wavered under the sheer, genuine warmth of the request. Her guard, momentarily, felt cumbersome. With a barely perceptible sigh that ruffled a strand of raven hair, she uncrossed her arms. "Very well," she conceded, her voice cool but lacking its usual edge. "One verse. Silence the... jellyfish."

She stepped forward into a pool of lantern light. The crew fell instantly, expectantly quiet. Even the sea seemed to hold its breath. Jelly wobbled to a stop, starry eyes fixed on her. Marya took a subtle breath, closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, and opened them, focusing on a distant star. When she sang, it was like nothing they'd ever heard aboard the Red Force.

Her voice was clear as cut crystal, pure and strong, carrying effortlessly without strain. It wasn't a raucous shanty; it was an old, haunting Consortium ballad, a song of distant stars and forgotten lore her mother might have hummed:

"Beneath the moon's cold, silver gaze,

Where ancient secrets softly sleep,

The waves caress forgotten days,

And memories the oceans keep..."

The effect was mesmerizing. Lucky Roux's jaw dropped. Yasopp stopped grinning, his eyes wide. Limejuice leaned forward, captivated. Bonk Punch's drumsticks hung forgotten in the air. Monster stopped fiddling with his knot, a look of profound confusion mixed with awe on his face. Gab stared, open-mouthed. Building Snake paused his mending. Hongo set down his teacup. Even Benn Beckman turned his head fully, the cigarette momentarily forgotten. Shanks watched, his expression softening into something deeply nostalgic and proud. Her voice painted pictures of quiet depth and sorrowful beauty, a stark, captivating contrast to the boisterous shanty.

Jelly was entranced. "Pretty singy!" he whispered, his voice a wobbly hush. "Like... tinkly water!" Inspired, wanting to be part of the beautiful sound, he concentrated. With a soft squish-glurp, his upper body morphed. His head flattened slightly, his arms retracted, and his torso extended into a long, wobbling stalk, culminating in a bulbous, blue, gelatinous sphere – a perfect, living microphone. He wobbled closer to Marya, presenting the "mic" end towards her mouth with a proud, silent "Bloop?" expression.

Marya, lost in the song, her guard lowered by the rare act of sharing this hidden part of herself, didn't immediately register the new, squishy object near her face. She reached the chorus, her voice soaring:

"Oh, carry me to shores unseen—"

HIC-BLORRRP!

Jelly, overcome by excitement (or perhaps the rhythm), hiccupped violently. The morph held, but the hiccup translated into a sudden, intense internal vibration. The bulbous microphone head pulsed wildly and sucked.

SCHLOOOORP!

Marya's next word – "Where" – was abruptly cut off, swallowed whole by the gelatinous microphone. All that emerged was a muffled, distorted "Mmmph-gllrk!" as the microphone head sealed momentarily over her mouth like a wet, blue plunger.

The spell shattered. Marya's golden eyes snapped open, wide with shock and utter disbelief, staring cross-eyed at the blue sphere suctioned to her face. She stumbled back a step, clawing instinctively at the wobbling appendage. "Mmmph! Gllrk! Jelly!" The words were completely muffled.

The crew stared for one stunned, silent heartbeat.

Then, the deck exploded.

Shanks threw his head back and roared with laughter, the sound booming across the water. Lucky Roux's belly-laugh joined in, shaking his entire frame. Yasopp howled, slapping his knee. Bonk Punch wheezed, tears streaming down his face. Monster bellowed with confused mirth. Gab giggled hysterically. Limejuice snorted. Building Snake chuckled into his net. Hongo covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. Even Benn Beckman let out a rare, sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head.

Jelly detached with a wet pop, reforming his head, looking immensely pleased. "Helped the singy!" he declared proudly. "Made it... wobbly-loud!"

Marya stood frozen, blue micro-goo smeared around her mouth, her hair slightly disheveled from the struggle. The icy stoicism was completely obliterated by sheer, flabbergasted indignation. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring at the beaming jellyfish, then at her laughing uncle, then at the utterly dissolved crew.

Shanks, wiping tears from his eyes, managed to catch his breath. He strode over, clapping a hand on Marya's shoulder (she stiffened but didn't pull away this time) and ruffling Jelly's head with his other hand. "See, Marya?" he boomed, his grin wide and infectious, encompassing the entire crew. "Perfect harmony's overrated! Gets boring! True music..." He gestured grandly at the chaotic scene – the laughing pirates, the indignant songstress, the proud jelly-microphone. "...true music needs a bit of chaos! Makes it louder! Makes it real!" He raised his mandolin. "Who's with me? Heave ho... with feeling... and maybe a 'bloop'!"

The cheer that erupted was deafening, full of pure, unadulterated joy. "HEAVE HO!" they roared, Bonk Punch slamming his drum, Yasopp whooping, Lucky Roux bellowing the loudest. Jelly bounced wildly, adding enthusiastic "BLOOP! BLOOP!"s that, this time, somehow fit perfectly into the renewed, gloriously off-kilter shanty.

Marya stood amidst the joyous pandemononic singing, the last traces of goo on her chin. She shook her head slowly, a long-suffering sigh escaping her. But then, watching Jelly wobble in time with Bonk Punch's drum, seeing Shanks' infectious grin, feeling the sheer, uncomplicated happiness vibrating through the deck... the corner of her lips twitched. It wasn't a smirk this time. It was the ghost of a genuine, reluctant, utterly baffled smile. She didn't join the singing, but she didn't retreat either. She simply stood, a silent island of Mihawk-like composure in a sea of red-haired, jellyfish-assisted chaos, the absurdity of the "Sing-Along Sabotage" warming her guarded heart despite itself. Sometimes, the loudest harmonies were born from the most spectacular blunders.

*****

The afternoon sun beat down on the Red Force, turning the deck into a shimmering griddle. The sea stretched, flat and lazy, to the horizon. Most of the crew sought shade: Lucky Roux napped under an awning near the galley, a half-eaten drumstick clutched in his hand; Yasopp meticulously cleaned his rifle lenses in the forecastle's shadow; Bonk Punch tuned his instrument softly; Monster and Gab arm-wrestled with lethargic grunts; Building Snake oiled pulley blocks; Limejuice studied a weather log; Hongo sorted herbs. Benn Beckman, ever the sentinel, leaned against the mainmast, observing the quietude with a watchful eye, smoke curling from his cigarette. Shanks, perched on the taffrail, idly swung Gryphon by its scabbard, a playful glint in his eye as he watched Marya practice precise forms near the stern railing, Eternal Eclipse a controlled whirl of obsidian darkness.

"Y'know, Marya," Shanks began, his voice a lazy drawl that carried easily, "seeing you move like that... takes me back." He grinned, a flash of white teeth. "To watching your old man drill forms for hours on some desolate rock. Same focus. Same intensity." He chuckled, leaning back. "Though, Mihawk always had that extra layer... like a permanent storm cloud brewing behind his eyes. Especially whenever anyone even looked at you sideways back then. Remember that merchant prince in Isla Reef? Offered you a flower, and Mihawk's glare turned the poor sod's silk doublet into a sweat rag! Thought he'd draw Yoru just for a misplaced compliment!"

Marya didn't pause her blade, but her next pivot was fractionally sharper, the blade humming slightly lower. "Father is... vigilant," she stated, her voice cool, devoid of inflection. "Unnecessary commentary on his demeanor is irrelevant to my practice, Uncle."

"Vigilant?" Shanks barked a laugh, swinging his legs. "Try 'possessively scowling!' Like the world itself was a potential kidnapper! Honestly, the sheer effort he put into radiating 'touch my daughter and I'll bisect your lineage' vibes..." He shook his head, still grinning. "Bet he's got a whole dossier on potential 'unsuitable acquaintances' you might meet out here. Probably ranks me as 'Chaotic Neutral - High Risk for Bad Influence.'" He winked.

The insult was playful, typical Shanks teasing. But it landed on a sensitive nerve – the complex knot of loyalty, independence, and the unspoken weight of Mihawk's expectations that Marya constantly navigated. Her practice stopped abruptly. She turned, facing Shanks fully, Eternal Eclipse held loosely but pointedly at her side. Her golden eyes, usually so observant and calm, held a spark of icy fire.

"My father's vigilance," she said, her voice dangerously low, "is born of experience, not paranoia. His 'scowl,' as you so flippantly call it, is a shield forged in battles you can scarcely comprehend." She raised her chin, a challenge in her stance. "Mocking it is an insult to his strength. And mine. If you find his protectiveness so amusing, Uncle, perhaps you'd care to test the edge it honed?" She lifted Eternal Eclipse slightly, the crimson runes pulsing faintly. "Defend your words with steel."

A hush fell over the shaded areas. Lucky Roux's snoring paused mid-snort. Yasopp lowered his lens cloth. Bonk Punch's tuning fork went silent. Even Monster and Gab paused their grunting contest. Benn Beckman's cigarette stopped halfway to his lips, his gaze sharpening. Shanks' grin didn't fade, but it gained a new edge – a mix of surprise, pride, and genuine amusement. He slid off the railing, Gryphon now held ready, not in threat, but in acknowledgment.

"Oho! Touched a nerve, did I?" Shanks chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "Alright then, Niece. Let's see if Mihawk's shadow stretches this far!" He adopted a relaxed, open stance, Gryphon held loosely. "No Haki. Just skill. Wouldn't want to scuff the deck too badly."

Marya didn't wait for further invitation. She moved like quicksilver, Eternal Eclipse a blur aimed not to kill, but to dominate, to prove a point. Her attack was pure Mihawk – economical, precise, terrifyingly fast, aimed to disarm or force a yielding parry. Shanks met it with Gryphon, the clash (CLANG!) ringing sharp and clear. He deflected with deceptive ease, his movements fluid and anticipatory, countering Mihawk's precision with Roger-inspired unpredictability. He didn't press hard; he parried, probed, and teased.

"Good! That angle!" Shanks deflected a thrust. "Pure Dracule!"

"Predictable feint, though!" He sidestepped a low sweep. "Bet Mihawk drills that one 'til your arms scream!"

"Your recovery's faster than his, though! Got your mother's reflexes!"

Each comment, each comparison, each casual invocation of Mihawk's methods, stoked the embers in Marya's chest. Her frustration mounted – not just at Shanks' teasing, but at the feeling of being constantly measured against her father's impossible standard, even in defense of him. Her movements gained an edge of raw power Mihawk would have cautioned against. Her void-veins pulsed visibly beneath her sleeves.

"You defend him fiercely," Shanks observed, blocking a powerful overhead strike that vibrated up his arm, his grin widening. "But is it your pride, Marya? Or his?"

The question, delivered mid-parry, struck deeper than any blade. A surge of raw, conflicted emotion – fierce loyalty warring with the desperate need to be seen as herself, not just Mihawk's shadow – ripped through Marya. It wasn't conscious. It was a visceral reaction. Eternal Eclipse reacted to the turmoil within her.

SHHHHOOOOOM!

Not mist, but Void-Mist. A thick, swirling fog erupted not from Marya, but from the blade itself, pouring forth like ink dropped in milk. It wasn't just obscuring; it felt wrong. Cold seeped into bones, not the chill of ice, but the emptiness of a grave. The wood of the deck beneath it groaned faintly, the vibrant colors seeming to leach away where the fog touched. Spectral shapes flickered within its depths – not full reapers, but skeletal hands grasping, hollow eyes weeping shadows. The air tasted of dust and decay.

"Marya! Rein it in!" Shanks barked, genuine alarm in his voice now, Gryphon held defensively as the corrosive fog billowed around him, threatening to engulf the stern. Lucky Roux scrambled back, dropping his drumstick. Yasopp cursed, covering his face. Bonk Punch shielded his instrument. Monster roared in confusion. Gab whimpered. Building Snake recoiled from the creeping greyness. Limejuice grabbed Hongo's arm. Benn Beckman dropped his cigarette, hand going to his pistol, his eyes wide with recognition of the danger – not to people directly, but to the very ship.

Marya stared, horrified, at the manifestation of her inner conflict. She tried to pull the energy back, but the Void-Mist, once unleashed, clung hungrily to the air, spreading, corroding the railing varnish where it touched. "I... I can't stop it!" she gasped, the stoic mask crumbling into panic.

"Bad fog! Sad fog!" a terrified, warbling voice cried. Jelly Squish, who had been trying to catch sunbeams near the mainmast, recoiled as the soul-chilling mist rolled towards him. He saw the spectral shapes flickering, felt the unnatural cold. Panic, pure and simple, seized him. He didn't think; he reacted instinctively to the unstable, dangerous energy. "Gotta eat the sad!" With a determined, terrified gulp, he opened his mouth impossibly wide and... inhaled.

SCHLLLUUUURP-GLOOP!

It wasn't graceful. It was like watching a whirlpool made of blue gelatin. The thick, corrosive Void-Mist streamed towards Jelly, pulled into his azure body with a sound like a thousand wet sponges being squeezed. His form distended grotesquely, bulging as he swallowed the swirling fog. The spectral shapes writhed within his translucent body, visible as dark, skeletal silhouettes trapped in the blue gel – ghostly hands pressed against his sides, shadowy faces contorted silently within his torso. He wobbled violently, glowing with an eerie, internal grey light, emitting low, moaning "Oooooh-bloooop..." sounds as the trapped Void-Mist churned inside him. The corrosive fog vanished from the deck, leaving only faint scorch marks and the smell of tang.

Silence descended, heavier than before. The crew stared, aghast, at the wobbling, groaning, internally haunted jellyfish. The skeletal shadows pulsed within him, giving him a horrifyingly temporary Reaper-like aura. Marya lowered Eternal Eclipse, her breath coming in short gasps, her golden eyes wide with shock at what she'd unleashed and what Jelly had done.

Shanks lowered Gryphon, eyeing the bizarre, groaning spectacle. He walked over, not to Marya first, but to Jelly. He placed a hand gently on the vibrating, shadow-filled gel. "Easy there, brave little shield," he murmured. "Hold it tight." He felt the chaotic energy churning inside, contained but unstable. Then he turned to Marya.

He didn't scold. He didn't tease. His expression was serious, understanding. "That," he said quietly, nodding towards the groaning, shadow-filled Jelly, "that fierce defense... that's yours, Marya. Not Mihawk's." He met her shaken gaze. "You carry his legacy in your blade, his precision in your form. But the fire that ignites it? The will that defends it, even when it spills over? That's you. It's messy. It's chaotic. It's terrifying sometimes." He gestured at Jelly, now emitting a low, mournful hum along with his bloops. "But it's also powerful. And fiercely loyal." He offered a small, sad smile. "Don't fear the shadow of the hawk, girl. Learn from it, respect it... but fly your own path. Even if it gets a little... foggy."

Marya looked from Shanks' understanding face, to the obsidian blade that had betrayed her turmoil, then to Jelly – a living, groaning prison for her unleashed conflict, temporary Reaper-shadows writhing within his innocent blue form. The icy defensiveness was gone, replaced by a raw, vulnerable confusion. The shadow of the hawk was long, but the path ahead, illuminated by the absurdity of a haunted jellyfish and her uncle's weathered wisdom, was unmistakably her own. She gave a single, slow nod, the weight of conflicted loyalty momentarily shared, contained in wobbling, gelatinous courage.