The atmosphere inside the place was calm. Some mermaids were sweeping, others were attending to the few customers present.
Among them, one particularly striking mermaid—a beautiful red-haired siren with large red eyes and exaggeratedly large breasts—was startled when she saw Tiberion Hanma enter.
The man walked through the café doors with that calm yet dominant stride, as if the sea itself parted before him.
His mere presence made it hard to breathe inside the establishment.
"Excuse me," he said, approaching the counter, "Has Madam Shyarly returned?"
"Gulp…"
The young mermaid swallowed hard. Her face blushed slightly, due to a dangerous mix of respect, unease… and barely contained desire.
"M-Mister Tiberion…" she replied, lowering her gaze, "Since our boss disappeared last time… well… she hasn't come back."
As she said that, she pressed the tray against her chest, nervous.
In her heart, she didn't know whether she was more unsettled by Tiberion's wild aura… or simply by the fact that someone like him already belonged to Princess Shirahoshi.
That body, that strength… that brutal mystery.
It had all already been claimed.
And she, like many others, could only watch from afar, with a pang of frustration floating beneath her chest.
Tiberion placed some Berries on the counter.
"I see," he said without emotion, before turning and leaving with heavy but serene steps.
However, he didn't believe a single word.
That instinct that kept him alive told him that Shyarly had returned. She just didn't want to see him.
And he decided he would come back every day.
Sooner or later, he would see her face to face.
…
Not long after he left…
From the back of the place, hidden behind some curtains, a sigh of annoyance was heard.
The soft sound of bubbles rose, and then she appeared:
Madam Shyarly.
An elegant, gothic figure, as if emerging from the shadows. Her short black hair, her eyes deeply lined, and her low-cut blouse that revealed her sensuality with controlled boldness contrasted with her tense and somber face.
"That man asking for me again?" she asked, in a low voice but full of discomfort.
"Y-Yes, Madam," the same red-haired mermaid replied submissively, "But just as you ordered, I told him you haven't returned yet."
Shyarly didn't respond immediately. She remained in place and exhaled a spiral of thick smoke.
"Boss…" the employee said, daring to speak cautiously, "Why don't you want to see him? I guess he must have something important to look for you…"
But there was only a long silence.
And then, Shyarly looked at her with a dry coldness.
"I don't want to talk about it. Don't ask again. Just remember what I warned you."
Her tone allowed no argument.
The pipe released smoke again as she lowered her gaze. But in her eyes, there was a storm.
Because she wasn't naive.
She had seen things. Things no one else could endure.
And that vision… had marked her forever.
The image had been clear. Although she hadn't yet known his face at the time, the name had thundered in her mind like a storm.
Tiberion Hanma.
And what she saw wasn't love.
It was violence.
Her, destroyed.
Him, without remorse.
The violation had been written. Not as an inevitable destiny, but as a brutal warning of the danger he represented.
That's why, when she heard his name… a lightning bolt shot through her spine.
And now, knowing that man was looking for her made her stomach churn.
She despised him and feared him.
"Understood, boss," her employees replied, all lowering their heads. Although they didn't know the details, they clearly understood that Madam Shyarly had real reasons to avoid the man.
And thus, smoke filled the room.
…
The next day…
Tiberion appeared once again at the Mermaid Café, and upon reaching the counter, he asked for her once more.
"Madam Shyarly?"
"Has she returned?"
From the back, Shyarly clenched her teeth tightly, her fingers tense, and her brow furrowed with a fury that she rarely allowed to surface.
"What… what the hell does this damn human want now…?" she murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground.
The rage rose inside her like a flame.
"Does it not matter how much I hide…?" she continued. "Not even after all these days has anything changed?"
She, who had always been the master of her control, was beginning to crack.
On the third day, it happened again.
Tiberion came back. He asked again.
And this time, Shyarly felt something inside her break.
"Again!?"
There was fury and suffocating despair growing in her chest, as if each of his visits was another drop falling into a glass that had already overflowed.
"This damn obsessed man won't leave me alone?"
"I never go out to seduce anyone! I just fix myself up a little to work at my café! So what?! Who am I bothering?" she burst out, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
She brought a hand to her chest, as if trying to hold back something that shouldn't be let out.
"And now it turns out he desires me… a damn pervert?"
The always controlled Madam Shyarly… could no longer keep her composure.
Not when the future she had seen was starting to brush against her skin.
"No. If this keeps up… I won't be able to keep fooling him," she whispered, her voice broken. "When night falls… I'll go into hiding again. And I'll wait for him to leave the Island. Then, and only then, will I come out again…"
But just as she finished saying that in a low voice…
Something changed in the air.
!
A cold current ran down the back of her neck.
A shadow rose behind her.
And when she turned around… he was already there.
Tiberion.
Before she could react, a huge hand covered her mouth tightly, choking the scream forming in her throat.
There was no room for the scream, nor for resistance.
Shyarly's body trembled violently, as she felt how that overwhelming strong palm completely enveloped her. She tried to move, to push, to scratch, to break free… but it was useless. Nothing she did had any effect.
'M-Muscles… so hard…' she thought, her mind collapsing, 'Such… monstrous strength…'
She couldn't break free, and now she knew it very clearly.
Despair settled in her system like poison, as she realized she had no control over anything. That sensation… was worse than the vision that had tormented her so much.
Tiberion no longer wanted to keep waiting for Shirahoshi.
His patience had a limit. And now that Shyarly kept hiding nonstop, his interest in her had grown. Not as love. Not as need.
But as a desire for pure domination, like a beast that smells fear and savors it.
And that brutal attitude, lacking empathy, that need to take what he wanted without asking for permission, was exactly the reflection of Yujiro Hanma.
This wasn't a game.
It was part of the role he "had" to play.
…
At that very moment…
Beyond the great bubble that enclosed Fish-Man Island, two ships of imposing proportions began to come into view, covered by a transparent coating that protected them from the pressure.
On their sails waved the unmistakable emblem: a skull with a white mustache, crossed by bones—the flag that no pirate in the New World would dare to underestimate.
"What the hell…!?" exclaimed a Fish-Man, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, "Aren't those… Whitebeard's crew's ships?"
"What are they doing here?... Did they come without warning?"
"Could it be because of Princess Shirahoshi's wedding…?"
"I don't think so. If they came with two full ships and commanders in charge… this goes far beyond a ceremony."
"Wow… I never imagined Fish-Man Island was that important to them."
"They say one of the captains is Jozu, from the Third Division. They call him the 'Diamond Man.'"
"The same one who's been by Whitebeard's side for more than twenty years. His bounty must be close to a billion Berries, right?"
"And that's even though he's not one of the most public ones! If that man fights seriously, I don't want to be anywhere near it…"
As the rumors spread, Neptune, from the upper terrace of the Palace, had already received the signal. His face showed slight relief. He knew they couldn't let their guard down, but the presence of those men brought at least a margin of hope.
"Open a safe channel," he ordered. "Make sure both ships enter without difficulty."
…
On the deck of the first ship, a not-so-tall shark Fish-Man with a dangerous gaze and a mouth full of protruding teeth peeked his head out to glance at the city below.
It was Namur, captain of the Eighth Division.
At his side, the imposing Jozu—a mass of muscle with the presence of living rock—watched in silence. Although he appeared calm, his body radiated a pressure that could not be hidden.
"Brother," said Namur suddenly, turning toward him, "I want to go see someone first. You all go ahead. I'll meet up with you later."
Jozu gave a slight smile, like someone who already knows his brother has other matters at hand.
"Go ahead," he nodded. "I'll take care of everything here. If anything gets complicated, you know I'll handle it like always."
The two shook hands briefly. Nothing else was needed.
However, Namur's subordinates, who were listening from behind, didn't take long to raise their voices.
"Captain, what about us?!"
"You're staying with Jozu," Namur replied without turning around. "Help him with whatever he needs."
"Man… He's ditching us for love again!"
"Every time we come here, he disappears and leaves us dying to meet the sister-in-law!"
"It's true! Bros before… well, you know, captain!"
"And also…" said one of the youngest, lowering his voice as if revealing a secret, "They say the mermaids working at the Mermaid Café are gorgeous."
"The owner, Madam Shyarly…" added another, eyes rolling back in pure bliss, "Now she is a beauty."
Namur stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.
And with a frown, he shot them a look that made them straighten up as if an admiral were present.
"Shut up, bunch of perverts!" he snapped. "Who told you she's your sister-in-law? She's not even my girlfriend yet."
He crossed his arms and huffed.
"Though… I'd love it if she were."
The men looked at each other, and as usual, one of them broke the silence.
"Oooooh! That's a statement of intent!"
"Come on, captain! Don't give up! True love always wins!"
"When you make it, invite us to meet some beauties too, will you?"
Namur let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, though he couldn't help but smile.
"If I pull it off, I promise I'll take you all to the Mermaid Café to celebrate it properly."
"Hahaha! Thanks, captain!"
"Hurry up! Show some character!"
"Be direct! Madam Shyarly won't be able to resist your perseverance!"
…
Namur, commander of the Eighth Division of the Whitebeard Pirates, a bull shark fish-man. His physical presence was imposing, not only because of his musculature, but also because of the aura of respect that surrounded him wherever he went.
But, despite everything, there was a thorn he had never been able to pull out from his heart: Shyarly.
He had met her years ago, on one of his first visits to Fish-Man Island, and since then, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind.
It wasn't just her exotic beauty or her gothic elegance, but her deep gaze, as if she could see through the soul, and her distant way of speaking, which had marked him from the very first encounter.
However, despite his sincere feelings and constant attempts, Shyarly had always rejected him.
But even so, he never gave up.
Every time he had a chance to return to the island, he would stop by the Mermaid Café, not just like someone visiting a familiar place, but like someone risking standing once more before the same closed door, hoping that maybe this time, it would open.
As soon as the ship touched down, Namur rushed toward the Café without wasting time, walking with firm steps and a heart pounding hard under his chest.
Each step brought him closer to her, and his determination, far from weakening, seemed to grow with every meter.
Upon arriving, he opened the door with familiarity, and a feminine voice reached his ears.
"Oh! Mister Namur? It's been so long since we last saw you!"
A young white-haired mermaid, with a kind smile, approached him laughing.
"Uh… yeah," Namur replied, adjusting his jacket nervously, "Is Madam Shyarly in? I need to see her."
The employee covered her lips with her hand, hiding a little giggle.
"Are you here to confess your love again, Mister Namur?"
He raised his head proudly and responded without hesitation:
"Of course! I'm not ashamed to say it. She's always been the woman I love."
There was no irony in his voice, nor arrogance. Just sincerity. Everyone at the café already knew that Namur never hid how he felt.
But the young woman's reply was not what he expected.
"But Mister Namur… Madam really isn't in the café."
?
Namur blinked, puzzled.
"She's not? That's impossible. Shyarly hates going out… Did she guess I was coming and is hiding because of it?"
The thought hit him hard.
"No! Even if she hides, I won't give up! I have to see it with my own eyes."
"Mister Namur, please!" another mermaid intervened, running toward him. "I swear she's not here! You can't go into the back room!"
"You have to understand that it's not appropriate…!"
But their voices were drowned out by the firmness with which Namur pushed forward. Not with violence, but with determination. The mermaids, with their more delicate bodies, couldn't stop a fish-man with years of experience at sea.
So, ignoring the protests, he headed for the café's private area, the zone where only Shyarly ever entered.
!
And just when he was about to go through the door… he froze.
It wasn't a simple startle or an act of caution, but a real, sudden, and complete paralysis, as if something invisible had bound his ankles and chest with chains of lead.
The change in the atmosphere here was immediate, and although he couldn't see what was happening on the other side, he could hear it with a clarity he would've rather never had…
*Pa* *Pa* *Pa*
At first came the wet, rhythmic sounds, like the echo of muffled impacts that didn't come from anything mechanical, but from real bodies—flesh striking flesh—with a rhythm too constant, too...
Then, a voice…
A female voice he would have recognized anywhere in the world, yet now felt unfamiliar to him. A broken voice, choked, cut off by ragged breaths that seemed torn between pleading, pain, and pleasure.
"A-Aahnn!~..."
Namur felt his muscles suddenly contract.
*Chof* *Chof* *Chof*
Those repetitive sounds stabbed into his chest like thousands of needles. With each blow, his heart and breath seemed to fail a little more.
What were these sounds…?
"—P-please… huff… don't do th-this to meeee—!"
!
And then, he recognized her.
Not by what she said, nor even how she said it, but by the exact tone of that voice he had heard so many times in his mind when he imagined a different answer, a dreamed confession.
It was her.
Shyarly.
*Slap*
The sound was as sharp and direct as a whip to the face.
And what came next… shattered him.
"—I-I COULD DIE LIKE THIS, YOU BEAST…! Mmh!"
________
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