Chapter 11: dressed for success
The grey light of dawn found Tashigi already awake, staring at the ceiling crack. It had widened overnight, a fine new branch splitting off from the main line. A map of her deterioration. D was asleep, his back to her, the sheets tangled around his waist. The silence was a temporary reprieve.
She slid out of bed, the metal deck cold under her bare feet. Her routine was silent, automatic: the standard-issue white panties, the practical sports bra, the trousers, the shirt. Each layer was a small victory. She was buttoning her shirt when his voice, thick with sleep, cut through the quiet.
“Not those.”
She froze, her fingers on the fourth button. He was sitting up now, rummaging in a small duffel bag he kept beside the bunk. He pulled out two small, dark items, holding them up by a single finger. The delicate lace looked alien in the utilitarian cabin.
“Tomorrow you wear your normal uniform,” he said, his voice casual, as if commenting on the weather. “But I found these. They must be for that formal dress event you Marines love so much. But I want you to wear them under your uniform. Today.”
He tossed them onto the bunk beside her. The bra was a complex web of black lace, impossibly flimsy. The panties were a high-waisted thong, the same intricate pattern. She stared at them, a cold knot tightening in her stomach.
“The panties are high-waisted,” he continued, swinging his legs out of bed. “So the edges will peek out between your shirt and trousers when you move. A little detail. Just for me.”
Her hands trembled as she undid the buttons of her shirt. The act of taking off the sensible cotton bra and putting on the lace one felt like a surrender far greater than any he had yet demanded. The fabric was whisper-soft against her skin, a constant, intimate reminder. The high waist of the thong sat just above her hips, a narrow band of black lace that she knew would be visible with every reach, every bend.
When she was fully dressed, she looked in the small mirror. The uniform appeared normal, stalwart. But she saw only the alterations. The subtle pressure of the unfamiliar underwire, the thin strap of the thong. She pulled on her coat, letting it hang open. It was her only shield.
The deck was bustling with morning activity. The air smelled of salt and tar. She walked to the quartermaster’s station to check the duty roster, her usual purpose now a hollow act. As she leaned over the ledger, pointing out a shift change to a petty officer, she felt a cool draft on the small of her back. Her coat had gaped open. She straightened up quickly, pulling it shut. The petty officer’s eyes flickered down for an instant, then back to her face. Had he seen the black lace peeking above her trouser band? His expression was neutral, professional. But the doubt was a seed, planted deep.
The day became a series of such moments. Every time she raised her arm to gesture, she was hyper-aware of the shirt pulling up. During a brief sparring session with a junior officer, a swift dodge made her shirt ride up enough for the lace edge to press visibly against the white fabric. Her opponent’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he recomposed himself. She ended the match abruptly, claiming a pulled muscle.
The missing men were a quieter, more pervasive horror. She passed a group of sailors swabbing the deck. There were three of them. She was certain there had been four in that team yesterday, a tall man from East Blue with a loud laugh. She didn’t ask. No one mentioned it. The emptiness where he should have been was just another cold draft on the ship.
The call came mid-afternoon. A marine stood stiffly at her door. “Lieutenant Tashigi. Captain Smoker requests your presence in his cabin. Immediately.”
Her blood ran cold. Smoker. The one man aboard whose perception couldn’t be manipulated, whose sense of justice was as absolute as sea-stone. Walking to his cabin felt like marching to her own court-martial. She adjusted her coat, ensuring it was fully buttoned, a futile attempt to contain the secret against her skin.
She knocked. His voice grunted from within. “Enter.”
Smoker’s cabin was spartan, smelling of cigar smoke and clean steel. He stood by his desk, massive shoulders blocking the porthole’s light. Two cigars smoldered in the corner of his mouth. His eyes, piercing and direct, pinned her the moment she stepped inside.
“Tashigi,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
She sat, back rigid, hands clasped in her lap. The delicate lace seemed to burn against her skin.
Smoker didn’t sit. He paced slowly in front of her, a caged predator. “The logbooks are a mess,” he began without preamble. “Transfers. Reassignments. Missing equipment reports. The paperwork on this ship has gotten… sloppy.” He stopped and turned his gaze fully on her. “And you’ve been distant. Distracted.”
Tashigi’s throat was dry. “I… apologize, Captain. I will ensure the logs are corrected.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice dropping. He leaned forward, planting his hands on his desk, looming over her. The smoke from his cigars curled around his head. “I’m talking about you. Your intentions.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. The concern in them was worse than anger. “My intentions, sir?”
“To stay with the Marines,” Smoker said, his voice flat and serious. “This organization… it’s flawed. We both know that. But it’s the best chance for justice this world has. It needs officers with backbone. Officers like you.” He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “Lately, I’m not seeing that backbone. I’m seeing someone who jumps at shadows. I’m seeing a vacancy where your resolve used to be.”
He was seeing right through the uniform, through the coat. He was seeing the effect, even if he couldn’t see the cause. The shame was a physical heat washing over her. She looked down at her hands.
“I owe my life to the Marines, Captain,” she whispered, the words tasting like ash.
“That’s not an answer,” he growled. He straightened up, folding his arms. “There’s a strange atmosphere on this ship, Tashigi. Men vanishing into thin air. Whispers. And you…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You are at the center of it. I want to know why. I want to know if you’re still with us.”
The directness of the question was a blade at her throat. Every fiber of her being screamed to tell him everything. The collars. The commands. The men walking into the sea. The lace underwear hidden against her skin. But the invisible restraint tightened around her will, a phantom chokehold. She opened her mouth, but the confession wouldn’t form. She could only stare at him, her eyes wide with a panic she couldn’t vocalize.
Smoker’s hardened expression shifted. The suspicion in his eyes was joined by a flicker of something else. Concern. Pity. He saw her struggle, her inability to speak, and he misinterpreted it entirely.
“It’s that boy, isn’t it?” Smoker said, his voice losing its edge, becoming almost weary. “D. You’re… involved with him.”
Tashigi’s breath hitched. It was the perfect, humiliating excuse. A personal scandal he could understand, a failure of judgment rather than a supernatural enslavement.
“Captain, I…” she began, but no denial came.
Smoker sighed, a long, tired exhalation of smoke. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way you tense up when he’s near.” He shook his head. “I’m not judging your personal life, Lieutenant. But it cannot interfere with your duty. If this… relationship… is compromising your ability to serve, you need to end it. Or I will transfer you off this ship. For your own good.”
Transfer. Escape. The word was a lifeline thrown into a stormy sea, but she was already chained to the mast. She couldn’t grab it. The order to stay, to belong to D, was a fundamental law of her existence now.
“I… understand, Captain,” she forced out, the words a betrayal of everything she was.
“Do you?” Smoker asked, his gaze heavy. “Get your head on straight, Tashigi. That’s an order. Dismissed.”
She stood abruptly, her legs weak. As she turned to leave, her coat swung open. In her agitated state, she didn’t notice. Smoker’s eyes, sharp and missing nothing, dropped to her waist for just a moment. He saw the delicate black lace of the high-waisted thong, stark against her white shirt, peeking above the band of her standard-issue trousers.
His mouth tightened into a thin line. He said nothing, but the pity in his eyes deepened into something colder. Disappointment. He thought it was confirmation. A young officer making reckless, private choices.
Tashigi fled the cabin, the door clicking shut behind her. She leaned against the cold corridor wall, gasping for air. He knew. But he knew all the wrong things. And the one man who could have helped her now believed she was just another officer throwing her career away for a bad romance. The lace pressed against her skin, no longer just his mark, but now a symbol of Smoker’s devastating misinterpretation. She was truly alone.
She was truly alone. The disappointment in Smoker’s eyes was a colder isolation than any cell. The corridor walls seemed to press inward as she walked, each step a mechanical repetition carrying her toward the inevitable. Her cabin door closed with a final, muffled click, sealing her in the silence.
She stood for a long moment, her back against the cold metal. Then, her hands moved. They unbuttoned the coat, letting the heavy wool fall to the floor in a heap. Her fingers worked the buttons of her shirt, the crisp white fabric parting to reveal the intricate black lace beneath. Every article of the uniform she cherished was folded with numb precision and placed on the small stool.
Soon, she wore only the delicate, high-waisted thong and the lace bra. The air in the cabin was cool on her exposed skin. She knelt on the hard deck, the position both alien and terrifyingly familiar. Her gaze was fixed on the door, waiting for the turn of the handle. Her glasses sat on the desk, making the world a soft, unfocused blur.
Her glasses sat on the desk, making the world a soft, unfocused blur. She knelt on the cold floor, the intricate lace of the thong a faint, mocking pressure against her skin. The only sound was the slow, deep pull of air into her lungs, each breath a conscious effort to remain still, to wait.
The door clicked open. D’s silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the corridor’s dim light. He stepped inside and closed the door, the latch engaging with a soft, final sound. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and found her kneeling there, exactly as he expected. He didn’t speak immediately, instead circling her slowly, his footsteps silent on the metal deck.
“Smoker called you in,” he stated, his voice casual. He stopped in front of her, tilting his head. “He saw the lace, didn’t he? When your coat swung open.”
She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, the grain of the wood a smudged pattern in her myopic vision. Her silence was answer enough.
A slow smile spread across his face. “He thinks you’re having a torrid affair. That you’re losing your edge over some boy.” He chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that felt like a violation. “It’s perfect, really. It explains everything. Your distraction. The strange atmosphere. The great Captain Smoker, blinded by something as mundane as a bad romance.”
He reached down, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw. She flinched, a minute tremor she couldn’t suppress. “You played your part beautifully,” he whispered. “Now, stay.”
He turned and left as quietly as he came, the door clicking shut behind him. The command settled over her, a weight more tangible than the lace. She remained on her knees, the cold seeping into her bones, the unfocused room swimming around her. Time lost meaning, measured only in the aching protest of her muscles and the shallow rhythm of her breath.
D moved through the ship’s corridors like a ghost, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The crew averted their eyes, a few offering hesitant nods. He paid them no mind. His destination was the one place his control should have been absolute, a fact a growing itch of doubt had begun to challenge. He paused outside Smoker’s cabin, listening to the faint rustle of papers inside. Then, he simply opened the door and stepped out of the deep shadow of the corridor.
Smoker was at his desk, a pile of reports before him. He looked up, his eyes narrowing. The two cigars between his lips smoldered, filling the room with a haze. There was no glazed look, no vacant submission. Only a familiar, grizzled irritation. “What do you want?”
The smirk vanished from D’s face. His will flexed, an invisible force reaching out to the collar only he could see. He felt the connection, solid and unbroken. The command to forget, to obey, was firmly in place. Yet, Smoker remembered him. He knew his name.
“You pushed her,” D said, his voice dangerously calm. “You did a good job. But you were supposed to ignore the strange events. The missing men.”
Smoker took the cigars from his mouth, his gaze level and sharp. “I see what’s in front of me. I see a good officer coming apart. I don’t need phantom crewmen to see that.”
A cold anger tightened in D’s chest. This wasn’t just resistance. This was clarity. The fruit’s power was being resisted, not broken. His eyes scanned the Marine Captain, the coiled strength, the unshakeable focus. Observation Haki. It had to be. The man’s innate perception was fighting the compulsion, allowing fragments of truth to surface. He hadn’t just remembered D; he’d deliberately questioned his orders.
“Keep pushing her,” D commanded, the words laced with a new, sharp edge. “Push her to quit of her own choice. And keep ignoring the strange events.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “And never mention me again.”
He focused his entire will, a concentrated shove against Smoker’s consciousness. “Wipe me from your memory.”
For a split second, a flicker of confusion crossed Smoker’s face. His eyes lost their sharp focus, clouding over. Then he blinked, shaking his head slightly as if to clear a mental fog. He looked down at the papers on his desk, then back up at the empty space where D had been standing. He grunted, stuck the cigars back in his mouth, and returned to his work, the brief interruption already fading into nothingness.
D stood outside the closed door, his heart hammering against his ribs. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal, the satisfaction of the scene with Tashigi now entirely evaporated. He had been careless. Arrogant. He had assumed the fruit's power was absolute, a simple on-and-off switch for the human will. But Smoker had just proven him wrong. Observation Haki could provide a shield, could create pockets of clarity within the forced obedience. He needed to be more careful. He needed to be smarter.
He pushed off from the door, a new, restless energy driving him forward. The game had just become more complicated. He strode back through the dim corridors, his mind already working, calculating. He needed to reinforce his control, to deepen the layers of her isolation until any thought of rebellion was unthinkable. He needed to prove, to himself more than anyone, that his will was the only one that mattered on this ship. He found his path, turning with purpose toward the one person who could provide that certainty.
He found his path, turning with purpose toward the one person who could provide that certainty. The corridor to his cabin felt shorter now, his footsteps echoing a new, sharp intent. The encounter with Smoker had scraped away a layer of his confidence, revealing a fragile core he desperately needed to reinforce.
He opened the door to find her exactly as he’d left her, kneeling on the hard deck. The sight was a balm, a reassertion of order. Her head was bowed, her dark blue hair curtaining her face, and the delicate black lace he’d chosen for her stood out against her pale skin. She didn’t look up as he entered, her entire being focused on the simple, terrible act of waiting.
“Still here,” he observed, his voice soft as he closed the door. He walked a slow circle around her still form, his eyes cataloging the slight tremble in her clasped hands, the tight line of her shoulders. “Good.” He stopped in front of her, his shadow falling over her. “Look at me, Tashigi.”
Her head lifted slowly. Without her glasses, her eyes were unfocused, the world beyond him a blur. But her gaze found his, and the sheer, raw vacancy in them was everything he needed. This was control. This was real.
This was real. The silence in the cabin was a presence, broken only by the sound of D removing his own shirt. He didn’t look at her as he moved to the washbasin, the casual nature of his actions more demeaning than any direct command. He splashed water on his face, the droplets catching the low light.
“Get up,” he said, his back still to her. “We’re having dinner. And you’re wearing that.”
Her legs protested, stiff and cold, as she pushed herself upright. The command held no room for questions, no allowance for the shame of being seen in only the delicate, impractical lingerie he had chosen. She stood, a statue of obedience, as he finished and pulled a fresh shirt from a drawer.
“It’s a nice look for you,” he remarked, buttoning his cuffs. “Functional, but with a bit of flair. It’s a good direction.” He finally turned, his eyes appraising her. “A bit more confidence, though. Shoulders back.”
The walk to the officers’ mess was an exercise in surreal horror. She moved beside him, the black lace of the high-waisted thong clearly visible above her trousers as her coat swung with her steps. Crewmen who saw them coming quickly found something else to look at, their forced nonchalance a silent chorus to her humiliation.
The mess was half-full. Conversations dipped as they entered. D guided her to a table, pulling out a chair for her with a mock gentlemanly gesture. “After you, Lieutenant.”
She sat, the cool wood of the chair a shock against her bare back. The transparent fabric of her bra felt impossibly flimsy in the crowded room. He sat opposite her, his demeanor relaxed. “So, Smoker. What did he say?”
Tashigi kept her voice low, monotone. “He thinks I’m involved with you. That it’s a… relationship. He’s disappointed.”
D smiled, a genuine, lighthearted expression that felt more monstrous than any scowl. “Perfect. Let him be the disappointed father. It keeps everything nice and simple.” A young steward approached, his eyes carefully fixed on D. “Sir? The menu…”
“We’ll both have the grilled sea king,” D said without consulting her. “And a bottle of that white wine from the West Blue.” He leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “He’s transferring you, you know. For your own good.”
The news should have been a relief. Instead, it felt like a sentence. If she was transferred, his control would follow. There would be no escape, only a new location for the same nightmare.
As the steward left, D’s gaze followed him. “Brahm. His name is Brahm. He has a sister in Loguetown.” He took a sip of water. “He asked for a transfer to the G-5 base last week. Smoker denied it.”
He let the statement hang there. Tashigi felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air temperature. She watched as D made a subtle gesture, a mere flick of his fingers under the table. Across the mess, Brahm, who was now speaking with the cook, suddenly stopped. The man turned, his expression blank, and walked calmly toward the deck. She knew, with a sickening certainty, she would not see him again.
The food arrived. D ate with gusto, making casual observations about the wine. Tashigi moved her food around her plate, each bite like ash in her mouth. The invisible collar felt heavier than ever, a leash that could be yanked at any moment, directing people to their doom.
“He’s not the first,” she whispered, her eyes on her plate.
“No, he’s not,” D agreed cheerfully. “But he might be the last. It really depends on you.” He gestured with his fork toward her barely-touched meal. “You should eat. Keep your strength up.” His eyes glinted. “You’ll need it.”
Later, on the moonlit deck, he stopped her by the railing. The sea was a vast, black expanse. “I think we need another demonstration. For the crew’s morale.” He pointed to a young marine who was practicing sword forms under a lantern. “Spar with him.”
“Like this?” The question was out before she could stop it, a breath of pure desperation.
“Especially like this,” he said, his voice dropping. “But this time, no holding back. I want to see you fight for real. Just once.”
He didn’t give the command, not verbally. But she felt the compulsion settle in her bones, different from before. It wasn’t a command to obey, but to perform. To show him her true strength, even as he systematically dismantled it.
She drew Shigure. The young marine, wide-eyed, raised his own practice blade. The first clash of steel was sharp in the night air. This time, she didn’t restrain herself. Her movements were a blur, a fluid dance of power and precision that the boy could not hope to match. She disarmed him in three moves, the practice sword clattering to the deck.
“Again,” D called out, his arms crossed.
As the marine retrieved his sword, D’s will flexed. The world didn’t flicker this time; it bent. When the boy lunged again, Tashigi pivoted to parry, but her foot met not solid deck, but a sudden, inexplicable patch of frictionless air. Her feet slid out from under her. She fell hard on her back, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Shigure skittered from her grasp.
She lay there, stunned, staring at the masthead looming above. Gravity itself had betrayed her.
The marine stood over her, confused, his sword still held high. A few other crewmen had gathered, their murmurs a low hum. D walked over and stood above her, his shadow swallowing her. He picked up Shigure, weighing the finely balanced blade in his hand.
“Nice sword,” he said, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet. He looked down at her, sprawled and vulnerable on the deck. The lace of her bra was fully visible, as was the stunned humiliation on her face.
He tossed the sword onto her stomach. The metal was cold through the sheer fabric. “Get up.” He didn’t offer a hand.
She pushed herself up, every muscle screaming. The crew was dispersing, confused by the bizarre end to the match. D knelt beside her, his voice for her alone. “ARE YOU READY TO JOIN? YOU WILL HAVE TO MAKE YOUR DECISION IN 2 DAYS TIME WHEN WE REACH LAND.” He then turned and addressed the few remaining onlookers, his tone jovial. “The deck’s a bit slippery tonight, Lieutenant. You should be more careful.”
She clutched Shigure to her chest, the cool steel a poor comfort against the residual wrongness in the air. She had one purpose now, a two-day clock ticking in her mind, a final choice looming in the silence he left behind.