Asiro got some rest in the warship for few days before an incident happened that changed his life.


    …


    The heavy clang of metal against wood reverberated through the warship’s deck as chains rattled, dragging across the floor. The captured pirates were marched forward, their bodies bruised and dirtied from battle, their expressions ranging from bitter defiance to hollow resignation.


    Asiro stood on the sidelines, his fingers clenched into fists as he watched them. The insignia on their ragged coats was unmistakable. The very same emblem that had flown above his burning village. The sight of it sent a slow, crawling heat up his spine, a cold fire settling in his chest. His breath came steady, but his heart pounded, his pulse deafening in his ears.


    The Marines moved with strict efficiency, dragging the prisoners across the deck with little patience. Some of the captured men cursed and spat at their captors, snarling like animals caught in a snare. Others stayed quiet, too injured or too defeated to fight back.


    And then, there was him.


    The pirate who stepped forward was nothing like the rest.


    Scarred Jaw. The Butcher.


    The man loomed over the others, standing at a monstrous 8’6”. His face was a grotesque display of old wounds—his jaw, mangled and uneven, exposed his teeth even when his mouth was closed, as if permanently twisted into a cruel grin. Blood still caked his tattered coat, dried at the edges of his wild black hair, and his crimson eyes burned with something almost… amused.


    He stopped the moment he saw Asiro.


    And he smirked.


    "Ahhh," he drawled, voice rough like grinding stone. "There you are, boy. Thought I recognized that look in your eyes." He grinned wider, the scars twisting hideously. "I was wonderin’ if any rats managed to scurry out alive. Guess I found one."


    Asiro’s stomach churned. The world around him blurred, the weight of memory crashing down all at once. The screams. The flames licking at the sky. The scent of burning flesh, thick and suffocating. His mother’s hands, weak but steady against his face, her voice whispering her final words.


    Live, Asiro. No matter what… live.


    His breath quickened. His muscles coiled beneath his skin, every part of him screaming to move, to strike, to tear. But he stood still, nails biting into his palm as he swallowed the fury rising in his throat.


    "Enough," one of the Marines snapped, slamming the butt of his rifle into the back of Scarred Jaw’s knee. The massive pirate barely flinched, but he let out a rasping chuckle as he sank slightly, offering no real resistance.


    "Easy, Marine," he crooned. "No need to get feisty. Ain’t like I’m goin’ anywhere."


    A heavy silence followed, thick with tension. Then, a voice broke through it, cutting through the air like a blade.


    "What should be done with them?"


    Hiroto Miyazaki stood at the edge of the gathered Marines, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes assessing the captured men with the same detached scrutiny he had given Asiro in their first meeting.


    The warship fell still.


    Some of the Marines shifted, exchanging glances. A few muttered among themselves. One spoke up, his voice firm. "They should be taken to trial, sir. Standard procedure."


    "They butchered a village!" another argued, disgust curling his lip. "They deserve execution."


    "The law doesn’t work on personal feelings," another Marine countered. "A fair trial is—"


    "Spare me," someone scoffed. "Fair? Would those people in the village have gotten a fair chance?"


    The voices clashed, filling the air with the weight of conflicting ideals.


    Hiroto didn’t move, didn’t react. He merely turned his gaze to Asiro.


    "Step forward."


    The deck seemed to shrink under Asiro’s feet. His throat tightened. Every eye turned toward him, but none burned hotter than Scarred Jaw’s. The pirate was still smirking, as if he already knew how this would end.


    Asiro stepped forward.


    The weight of every gaze pressed against Asiro like an iron grip, unrelenting and suffocating. The Marines stood in a silent semicircle, watching, waiting. The captured pirates knelt before them, their fates hanging in the balance. And at the center of it all, Hiroto’s cold, piercing eyes locked onto him.


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    "What do you think should be done?"


    The words rang in Asiro’s ears like a hammer striking steel. He wasn’t prepared for this. His thoughts were a whirlwind of rage, grief, and confusion. The sight of the pirate—Scarred Jaw, the Butcher—smirking at him, as if none of this mattered, made his blood boil. It would be so easy. So easy to let that rage guide him.


    But then… his mother’s voice.


    Live, Asiro. No matter what… live.


    Her final words wrapped around his mind, pulling him back from the brink. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t become like the monsters that took her from him. Killing in the name of vengeance—was that justice? Would it make him any different from Scarred Jaw himself?


    He swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. The silence dragged on, stretching unbearably thin.


    The pirate let out a slow, rasping chuckle. "Heh. I get it now." His scarred jaw twisted as his grin widened. "You don’t got the stomach for it, do ya, kid? You look at me, and all you see is your worst nightmare. But guess what? You ain’t cut out to be my executioner."


    Asiro’s nails dug into his palm. He wanted to wipe that smirk off the pirate’s face, to make him pay for what he had done. But justice—true justice—was not about personal vengeance.


    His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "Prison. He should be locked away."


    A ripple of reactions spread through the Marines. Some nodded in approval, their expressions neutral. Others frowned in disappointment, their hands twitching near their weapons. One man scoffed under his breath. "Soft."


    Scarred Jaw laughed. A deep, cruel sound. "Figures." He tilted his head toward Hiroto. "That good enough for ya, Vice Admiral? Or do you actually got the guts to do what needs to be done?"


    Hiroto had not taken his eyes off Asiro the entire time. Now, he gave the faintest nod. "Understood."


    For the first time since waking on this ship, Asiro felt the smallest breath of relief. He had made his choice. He had chosen justice over vengeance.


    But then, Hiroto moved.


    And the moment of relief was shattered.


    Shattered like fragile glass.


    Hiroto moved with lethal precision, his coat billowing as he unsheathed his sword in a single fluid motion. The steel glinted under the fading sunlight, and before Asiro could fully process what was happening, the blade had already fallen.


    A sickening shhk echoed through the deck.


    Scarred Jaw’s body twitched. His crimson eyes widened—surprise flickering across his scarred face before dull acceptance settled in. A thin line of blood bloomed across his thick neck, growing into a deep, gaping wound as his body slumped forward. His massive frame collapsed to the ground, the dull thud swallowed by the silence that followed.


    Asiro stood frozen. His breath caught in his throat. His limbs refused to move.


    Blood pooled across the deck, seeping between the wooden slats. The smell of iron, sharp and suffocating, filled his nostrils. The world around him blurred, voices drowning beneath the heavy pounding in his chest.


    He had just sentenced a man to die.


    No—Hiroto had. But it didn’t matter. The decision had already been made. Asiro had spoken, but his words had been meaningless.


    His stomach twisted violently. He barely noticed himself stepping back, his legs unsteady beneath him. He was drowning, trapped beneath a weight he couldn’t shake. He forced himself to look up, to meet Hiroto’s gaze.


    "Why?" His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.


    Hiroto didn’t hesitate. "Justice isn’t about mercy." He flicked the blood from his blade before smoothly sliding it back into its sheath. "It’s about ensuring this never happens again."


    Ensuring…


    Asiro’s fingers curled into fists. His mind screamed at him, demanding answers. If this was justice, then why did it feel so wrong? Why did the image of Scarred Jaw’s lifeless body fill him with unease instead of satisfaction?


    The Marines around them didn’t flinch. No one reacted as if anything out of the ordinary had happened. Some nodded in approval. Others simply turned away, already moving to handle the remaining prisoners.


    As if life and death were nothing more than routine.


    The pirate’s smirk still lingered in Asiro’s mind. Had Scarred Jaw known all along? Had he expected this outcome? Had he wanted to prove that the Marines were no different from the monsters they claimed to fight?


    Asiro swallowed hard, his throat dry.


    Was this truly justice… or something else entirely?


    He stood motionless, his breath shallow as the last echoes of the execution faded into the sea wind. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mixing with salt and sweat. The other pirates had been dragged below deck, their muffled protests swallowed by the vastness of the ocean. The deck had returned to an eerie normalcy, Marines moving about as if nothing had happened. As if life and death were mere transactions.


    He felt cold. Not from the breeze, but from the weight in his chest. A dull, suffocating pressure that pressed against his ribs. His eyes remained fixed on the dark stain seeping into the wood where Scarred Jaw had fallen. No one else seemed to care. It was expected. Routine.


    A passing Marine, adjusting the strap of his rifle, muttered without emotion, "It was always going to end that way."


    Asiro barely registered the words, but they carved into him like a blade. Was it true? Had his choice meant nothing? Had Hiroto already decided before even asking him?


    His fingers curled into fists at his sides.


    Justice isn’t about mercy. It’s about ensuring this never happens again.


    Hiroto’s voice echoed in his mind, cold and absolute. The Vice Admiral had already turned away, his posture unshaken, his expression unreadable. There was no triumph in his face, no satisfaction. Just… certainty.


    Asiro felt sick.


    He had wanted to believe in something different. Something that separated them from the monsters they fought. He had wanted to believe in a justice that was not just about power. But if this was justice, if this was the answer… then why did it feel so wrong?


    The sun had begun to set, staining the sky in hues of burning red. The sea, vast and endless, stretched before him, indifferent to the blood spilled upon it.


    That night, lying in a bunk that still felt foreign, Asiro could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again. The flash of the blade. The moment of impact. The look on Scarred Jaw’s face—not fear, not regret. Acceptance.


    And Hiroto’s words, ringing in his mind, reshaping everything he thought he understood.


    For the first time since setting foot on this ship, Asiro felt something he couldn’t ignore.


    Doubt.