Chapter 192: Otohime's Reluctant Homecoming
Ross decided to drop the topic, letting the conversation fade without pressing further. Cracking a mind like Otohime's in a single day was no small feat anyway. He'd planted enough doubt to make her question her lifelong mission—and that rift between mermaids and fish-men she'd always dreamed of bridging.
Three pointed scenarios were all it took to dismantle her worldview and start rebuilding it in his image. When confusion finally drove her aboard his ship, she fell right into the mold he'd shaped.
In truth, the tensions between mermaids, fish-men, and humans had never truly been about race. Equality wasn't some inherent trait of bloodlines. Discrimination and oppression were just symptoms of deeper class divides, roots that twisted through society like hidden currents.
To the World Government, fish-men, mermaids, and even baseline humans were all the same: playthings to be crushed underfoot. Humans dominated only because they outnumbered everyone else and boasted the strongest fighters. Without that edge, fish-men and mermaids could just as easily lord it over humans.
Strength was the real equalizer. Get powerful enough, and you'd carve out a spot anywhere in the world. If not, seek out the quiet corners where folks lived without the boot on their necks—places where mermaids and fish-men could thrive side by side.
Even in the Four Seas, a mermaid or fish-man strong enough might turn the tables, bullying humans instead. Fish-Man Island's spot between the first and second halves of the Grand Line made it a tempting target for pirates who'd clawed through the calmer waters. Who had time for mercy amid that chaos?
Ten days later, the fleet closed in on the Sabaody Archipelago.
In that time, Otohime had woven herself seamlessly into Ross's inner circle. She'd watch Gion drill her sword forms, swap ideas with Sora over tea, or pick up medical tips from Stella. Her days brimmed with purpose, and she'd all but forgotten to send word to King Neptune that she was safe.
Ross couldn't have been more pleased.
To ease her lingering doubts, he even had Spandine slip back to Fish-Man Island with the full story: Otohime had joined his crew and was thriving. No sugarcoating, just the raw truth.
He had no idea how her people would take it. Some mermaids might cheer her on; others could brand her a traitor. It didn't matter—let the ripples spread.
At the bow, Sora had set aside her books and experiments for once. She lounged in a deck chair, back against Ross, hand idly tracing her swelling belly as she watched Reiju and Otohime dash across the deck.
Otohime's tail flicked through the air in playful pursuit, her laughter ringing out like bells. Sora tilted her head, murmuring to Ross, "She only had to win once out of three to prove her point. Was she really that stubborn? Did you have to break her down three times running?"
She knew all about the wager. From the start, Otohime never stood a chance against Ross's cunning. Her wide-eyed idealism was no match for his calculated strikes—even without him rigging the game, she'd have folded like a bad hand.
Ross chuckled, his arms wrapped around her. "Takes three solid hits to topple anyone worth the effort. Look at Dragon—he's weathered way more than that and still stands."
"That's not the same," Sora shot back, rolling her eyes as she snuggled deeper into his chest. "Comparing her to Dragon? You're giving her too much credit already."
As they neared the Holy Land, she'd grown clingier, savoring every moment. She knew the trip to Wano loomed without her. Her condition made her a liability—a chink in Ross's armor he wouldn't risk exposing.
He'd never allow it, and she wouldn't dream of burdening him with worry.
"If she can shift her outlook, Otohime's a better fit than Zane for handling the family's outreach," Ross murmured.
"Her mermaid heritage?" Sora guessed, piecing it together.
Race would open doors, sure. A figure like Otohime speaking for him could rally scattered allies, smoothing the path to broader alliances.
"Not just that—her smarts, too." These past days had revealed Otohime's sharp mind beneath the naive facade. It wasn't stupidity holding her back; it was inexperience, a blank canvas waiting for strokes of color.
She'd poured her faith into persuasion and her unique gifts, convinced they could foster understanding across divides. Ross aimed to show her the truth: ideals alone couldn't cut it. She needed to grasp the ugly roots of conflict—power, greed, fear.
With guidance, someone like Otohime could evolve from naive peacemaker to impartial enforcer, perched above the fray to deliver justice on his terms. And he'd define what "justice" meant.
"Your lab in the Holy Land is all set up," Ross continued, pulling her closer. "I've got assets there ready to back you—Rouge, her boy, Robin, Olvia. Use them however you see fit. No red tape; act first, report later if you want."
He'd left a skeleton crew behind: just those few to hold the fort. Sora was the only one staying from this voyage, her talents perfect for anchoring operations at the heart of power. Time to hand her the reins, bit by bit.
Sora smirked, patting her belly. "Don't worry, I'll fatten 'em all up nice and healthy for you."
"You know that's not it," Ross laughed.
Truth was, he didn't fully trust Olvia or Robin. Word had trickled in: Olvia was itching to hit the seas again, chasing historical texts like a woman possessed.
Sora's presence would keep eyes on her. No freedom for them yet—not until the board was set.
"I get it. The tale's nearly done," Sora said softly. "Wove in the real history, twisted the bits you wanted. Just needs to hit the world stage."
"No hurry on the story. When I swing back to Mary Geoise, I'll etch every Poneglyph we own. We've got a solid collection—I'll seed them worldwide."
"Watch Olvia," Sora warned. "She's handled those stones before. One glance might tip her off to the tweaks."
"Relax—these are relics from a century back. I wouldn't botch the details like that." Ross grinned.
Everything was lining up. These moves wouldn't drop all at once; they'd unfold after the next Levely, layer by calculated layer.
The World Government still bristled with roadblocks—holdouts he'd dismantle one by one. At minimum, he'd need two more Five Elders in his pocket to pitch the big plan to Imu-Sama.
Otherwise, that top dog's paranoia about Nika would kill it outright. No chaos, no downfall. How else to draw out their true power?
He sure as hell wasn't testing it himself. Lose that fight, and it'd be the joke of the century.
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