CHAPTER 12: [12] ROW, ROW, ROW YOUR BOAT

The sun beat down on Pierre’s back, his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat. Seven hours of rowing had turned his arms to lead.

"Are we there yet?" Pierre asked for what must have been the tenth time in an hour.

Raven lounged at the bow of the small boat, her half-red, half-white hair whipping around her face in the sea breeze. She’d stripped down to her royal blue bra hours ago, claiming the heat was unbearable. Her black pants rode low on her hips, secured by a red sash that fluttered occasionally when the wind picked up.

"Another hour, maybe two." She squinted at the horizon. "Depends how much strength you’ve got left in those noodle arms."

"My arms aren’t noodles," Pierre grunted, pulling harder on the oars to prove his point. His recent attribute boosts from the pirates had helped, but seven hours of continuous rowing would tax anyone. "And if you’re so concerned about our speed, you could take a turn."

Raven stretched like a cat, arms reaching overhead, back arching. "Mmm... nah. I’m navigating."

"You’ve been ’navigating’ for hours by staring at the same spot on the horizon."

"And keeping us on course." She tapped her temple. "Navigation is mental work."

Pierre rolled his eyes and kept rowing. His Endurance stat was the only reason he hadn’t collapsed yet.

That and the massive strength difference between this world and Earth. The average chore boy here would be considered as athletic as a semi-pro athlete back home.

"What’s waiting for us in Hotaru Town anyway?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the pain.

he playful smirk on Raven’s face vanished. Her shoulders squared almost imperceptibly, and the light in her eyes dimmed. "I told you," she said, her tone suddenly flat. "I need to pick something up."

"Yeah, you’ve been real specific about that."

"It’s a map."

Pierre perked up. "A treasure map?"

"Something like that." Raven’s fingers traced patterns on the wooden plank beside her. "I have a deal with a crew. They’re paying good money for it."

Pierre knew exactly what map she meant. In the original story, Raven had stolen a map of the Elysian Sea—the first half of the Great Sea—from a Navy cartographer in Hotaru Town. She’d planned to sell it to a pirate crew called the Black Serpents, but ended up joining Jack’s crew instead when the Navy caught wind of the theft.

"Must be some map," Pierre said, watching her carefully.

"It is to people who don’t know better." A smirk played across her lips. "Pirates think a fancy map will lead them to glory. They don’t realize..."

"That a map is useless without a skilled navigator?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Exactly."

The conversation lulled. Pierre’s arms burned. The monotony of the sea, the rhythmic agony of his muscles, the blistering sun—it was a unique circle of hell reserved for him.

His mind wandered to his old life, to the apartment he’d never see again, to his upcoming UFC contract that would never happen now.

Without thinking, he began to sing. The melody rose from some half-forgotten memory—his mother from his earth singing to him when nightmares woke him as a child.

"Oh the wind blows cold on the open sea,

And the waves they crash on high,

But we’ll sail on through till the morning comes,

Under the endless sky."

His voice, rough from thirst, carried across the water. The rhythm matched his rowing, giving his tired muscles new purpose.

"So row, my boy, through the darkest night,

Let your heart be brave and true,

For the dawn will break with its golden light,

And bring us home anew."

Pierre paused, surprised at himself. He hadn’t thought about that song in years. Not since...

Raven sat up. "Where did you learn that song?"

Pierre blinked. "My mother... she used to sing it to me. When I was scared or couldn’t sleep."

Raven nodded slowly, her lips parting in a smile that seemed to soften the sharp edges of her face. "Not bad for a guy who fights with bags of gold." She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Most shanties I’ve heard were bellowed by drunk sailors who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket."

"My mother had a beautiful voice," Pierre said, smiling slightly. "Nothing like mine."

Raven’s eyes softened at Pierre’s mention of his mother.

"Your mother sounds special," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Mine couldn’t carry a tune either. But she loved to dance." Raven’s fingers tapped a rhythm against her knee, like she was remembering something distant. "When traders came to our island with music boxes, she’d save for months just to buy one."

The novel never mentioned anything like this...

Pierre kept rowing, his muscles burning with each pull. The horizon hadn’t seemed to get any closer despite his efforts. "What happened to her?"

The vulnerability vanished from Raven’s face as if a mask had dropped into place. She turned away, presenting him with her profile as she stared out at the endless blue. "Life happened. What about yours?"

"Gone too." Pierre’s voice came out rougher than he intended. The memory of his Earth mother mixed with fragments of memories from this world—a woman with dark hair singing by candlelight, her face always just out of focus in his mind. "Long time ago."

The boat rocked gently as a larger wave passed beneath them.

"Hey," Pierre said, breaking the quiet. "I could teach you the rest of the song."

Raven turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

"Sure. If you row the boat." Pierre grinned, holding out the oars. "I’ll sing, you row. Fair trade."

"Ha!" Raven’s laugh burst out. "Oh look at that, the current’s changing soon. I need to focus right now on keeping us on track." She tapped her temple again. "Navigator stuff. Maybe next time!"

"Navigator stuff? You’re just sitting there!"

"I’m calculating wind patterns, ocean currents, and our precise latitude using only the position of the sun." She stretched her arms above her head again, deliberately showing off the smooth skin of her stomach. "It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand."

Pierre snorted. "You’re full of shit."

"And you’re full of sweat. Seriously, you stink."

"Wonder why," Pierre grumbled, pulling harder on the oars.