At first, he was a clumsy pirate. A captain who would smile warmly as his crew grew one by one, gripping the helm with inexperienced hands. I was just one of them, an ordinary sailor drifting across the sea.

Then one day, our ship was attacked. The enemies were too many, and for him, still unaccustomed to combat, it seemed overwhelming. Despite a desperate struggle, the ship survived, but I was captured and dragged away by the enemy.

Back then, he couldn't call out to me or grab hold of me. He was too busy swinging his sword frantically with his amateur skills, unable to even spare a glance in my direction.

Years passed, and I worked like a slave on a foreign ship, my name forgotten. No one came to save me, and I thought that one day, I too would forget everything.

And now, as shouts begin to shake the ship once more, I stand defenseless. As someone wielding a blade enters my field of vision, I freeze in place.

One step, two steps—as the strange pirate I thought had come to harm me draws closer, his face begins to come into focus.

Navy hair, a cold expression. I was confused for a moment by his familiar yet completely different appearance, but those eyes—I had never forgotten those eyes.

He slowly shifts his sword behind his back and reaches out a rough, worn hand.

I'm late, aren't I. The sea doesn't like giving up its paths easily.