The crew carefully docked their borrowed ship in a secluded inlet, shrouded by a rocky outcrop and far from the bustling city ports. It wasn't the most glamorous spot, but it offered the anonymity they needed. Even so, Temoshí knew the people of Casinova Island were far too engrossed in their own indulgent distractions to pay much attention to an extra ship. After all, on an island like this, strangers came and went as often as a deck of cards was shuffled.
Stepping off the ship as a group, the crew found themselves immediately immersed in the chaos of the city. The streets were a dizzying blend of neon lights and vibrant activity. Cars honked and sputtered, narrowly weaving through streams of pedestrians who were equally loud, chattering, and rushing to their destinations.
Vendors lined the streets, their voices cutting through the cacophony as they competed for attention. "Step right up and test your luck! Spin the wheel, win a fortune!" one barked from a colorful booth lined with gaudy trinkets. Another waved skewers of grilled meat in the air, the sizzling aroma mixing with the sharp tang of spilled ale. "Taste the best in town, guaranteed to change your life!" he hollered, luring in a gaggle of curious tourists.
Tarot's eyes widened like saucers as he hovered near a fruit stand. "Is that... a peach stand?!" he gasped, practically vibrating with excitement. Before anyone could stop him, he darted into the crowd, vanishing like a kid chasing a balloon.
Kyora clicked her tongue in annoyance, her gaze darting around. "Stay close, everyone. This place is a maze, and the last thing we need is getting separated."
The group pressed forward, weaving through the tightly packed streets. Bright signs in every color imaginable illuminated the night, advertising everything from high-stakes poker tournaments to bizarre-sounding attractions like The Amazing Chicken Roulette Show. On the corners, performers juggled flaming torches, and magicians conjured illusions that captivated clusters of wide-eyed onlookers. Every few feet, a new distraction awaited, beckoning with promises of thrills and fortunes.
Elliott tilted his head, watching a man dressed as a giant slot machine dance awkwardly in front of a casino entrance. "This place is... something else," he muttered, unsure whether to be impressed or overwhelmed.
"It's like the entire city's running on caffeine and bad decisions," Nathaniel said dryly, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble.
Joker chuckled softly, his gaze drawn to a massive clock tower looming above the skyline, its face glowing ominously. "Welcome to Casinova Island," he said with a flourish, his voice dripping with amusement. "The city where fortunes are won, lives are ruined, and secrets lie waiting to be unearthed. If you thought the game started when we docked, my friends, think again. The real gamble begins here."
Temoshí and Kyora shared a look as Joker delivered his dramatic analysis like he was narrating a soap opera. Temoshí rolled his eyes, flopping a hand in Tarot's direction. "Thanks for that, Mr. Monologue. Meanwhile, over there, Tarot's already bankrupting himself on a peach stand. Look at him—two full bags in under a minute. No quality check, no haggling. Just raw enthusiasm. I bet the vendor doesn't even sell peaches. Probably just stuck 'em on display and called it a day."
Kyora sighed as they both watched Tarot proudly cradle his peach haul like it was a priceless treasure. Meanwhile, Aurora had drifted away entirely, her focus stolen by a guitarist strumming on an outdoor stage. She was already swaying to the beat, completely detached from the group.
"And there goes Aurora," Temoshí groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Great, our pasenger's off chasing vibes. Next thing you know, she's gonna join the band." But as he turned to regroup, something caught his attention in the distance—a grill packed with glistening, golden-brown skewers of meat. His jaw practically unhinged. "Ooh, meat," he whispered like a man possessed. Without a second thought, he wandered off, drawn to the stand like a moth to a flame, completely forgetting the crew.
Nathaniel stood there, arms crossed, watching the madness unfold around him. "You know," he deadpanned to Kyora, "for a guy who fixes islands and supposedly leads us, I have serious questions. How did he even become a pirate? He can't stay focused long enough to swab the deck. I swear we're the only reason he hasn't sailed into a whirlpool while chasing a food truck."
Joker shifted his gaze to Yumiko, who was absentmindedly clutching her numb arm, her expression a blank slate. "Well, looks like Yumiko's in charge again since Captain Meat Lover over there decided to form a lifelong bond with the grill master. Pretty sure he's negotiating for an entire plate of 'mystery meat on a stick' as we speak."
But Yumiko was far from ready to lead—or even to engage. Her movements were slow and detached, as though the bustling city around her was nothing more than a blurry painting. She wandered aimlessly, her body on autopilot while her mind whispered thoughts no one else could hear. "I feel worse... Like I'm sinking into some endless sleep, and I don't know how to fight it. How do you stop yourself from... fading?"
Nathaniel, ever watchful, kept his focus on Yumiko, his sharp eyes catching the cracks in her usual energy. Meanwhile, Kyora stepped forward, deciding a softer approach might work, and gently pulled Yumiko aside for a private conversation.
Nathaniel leaned toward Temoshí, his tone low and serious. "Do you think it was the right call to bring her along? She's running on fumes—physically, mentally... she's not here, Tim."
Temoshí, still wiping his hands free of meat grease, sighed heavily as he finished his snack. "It wasn't really a choice,Natehaniel. You know how she is. There's no stopping Yumiko once she's made up her mind."
As he moved to discard the plate and return to the group, the grill vendor screamed from behind. "Hey! You didn't pay!" Temoshí gave a dismissive wave, not even glancing back. "Put it on my tab." he called, earning a mix of glares from the folks.
Nathaniel followed him to a quieter spot, his voice lowering again. "You know she's too stubborn to back down. But there's something seriously wrong with her. This isn't just exhaustion."
"I know," Temoshí admitted, rubbing his temples. "But unless we tie her down—and let's be real, she'd break free—we're stuck. I just wish Chiaki were here. She'd know what to do. We're out of our depth, Nathaniel. And she's spiraling..."
The solution to get Yumiko to actually talk—and more importantly, to listen—remained as elusive as a treasure map written in invisible ink. For now, Temoshí and Nathaniel shelved the problem, their attention stolen by the unmistakable sound of munching.
Tarot, now waddling over with several bags of peaches clutched to his chest like priceless artifacts, was practically glowing with joy. Each bite he took sounded like a victory celebration. "Gentlemen! Have a taste! These peaches are so good, they might just be the secret to immortality!" he announced, his voice laced with the kind of excitement usually reserved for discovering buried treasure.
Bemused but curious, both Nathaniel and Temoshí grabbed a peach from Tarot's overflowing stash and bit in. The flavor exploded in their mouths like some sort of fruity enlightenment.
Tarot's eyes sparkled as he watched their reactions. "Ah-ha! I knew it! You're tasting greatness! The Peach Warrior Army shall rise, my friends! And with these peaches as our weapon, we will conquer all who stand before us!" He triumphantly raised a peach in the air like a sword, juice dripping down his wrist.
Caught up in the ridiculous energy, Temoshí chuckled and mimicked Tarot, raising his own peach as if preparing to charge into battle. "Peach Army, let's march!"
Nathaniel, still chewing, raised an eyebrow but couldn't express a smirk as he half-heartedly lifted his peach too. "Peach Army? Sure. Why not. This is my life now."
The three of them strutted forward in a ridiculous military formation, peaches in hand, as if they were leading the charge into a citrusy war zone. Nearby citizens gave them confused looks, but the "troop" remained unbothered, their fruity mission clear.
"Ooh, Tim! What if we rename our crew Peach Army? Straight from the heavens—a divine blessing! Everyone who hears of us would tremble at the name Peach Pirates!" Tarot proclaimed with the kind of conviction that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or deadly serious.
Temoshí stared at him for a second, then raised his hand and lightly bonked Tarot on the head.
"Owie! Unnecessary, mate!" Tarot whined, rubbing the spot like he'd been hit with a cannonball. "That was uncalled for! I was sharing wisdom, not asking for punishment!"
Temoshí sighed, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. "Peach Pirates? Sounds like some second-rate board game your ancestors played at a family reunion. There's no way I'm letting us sail under a name that sounds like it belongs on a discount shelf."
"But it's poetic..." Tarot protested, still cradling his bruised ego (and head). "A symbol of sweetness and strength!"
"Symbol of ridiculousness is more like it," Temoshí quipped as he walked away. "And don't think this island will bless you with good luck just because you're armed with peaches."
Tarot pouted, muttering under his breath. "Peach Army would've been legendary..."
Somewhere deep within Casinova Island, a man stood confidently in the heart of a grand game room filled with the clatter of chips and the buzz of excitement. Roulette wheels spun, card tables buzzed with wagers, and dice rolled with unrelenting anticipation.
"Black," the man declared smoothly, his voice cutting through the noise as the roulette master released the ball. The crowd leaned in, watching with bated breath as it clicked and clattered around the wheel. It seemed destined for red but, in a dramatic halt, landed squarely on 33 black.
The room erupted into gasps and murmurs, and a smattering of reluctant applause followed. The man smirked, tipping the brim of his hat as he scooped up his winnings. "Prediction," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "Such a trivial skill."
The players around him clapped begrudgingly, acknowledging his streak of success. Before he could revel in his victory, a figure stepped forward from the shadows, addressing him with calm authority.
"Do you mind if I bother you for a moment, Mr. Aurelio? It's important."
The man, now revealed as Aurelio, a name that resonated with reverence and fear in the gambling underworld, adjusted his finely-tailored cloak with a flick of his wrist. He brushed a speck of dust off his immaculate gloves and fixed his piercing gaze on the newcomer.
"Finnovare," Aurelio greeted with a knowing smile. "Of course. Let's continue this conversation in my office. I'm always intrigued when someone dares to disturb my game."
With that, Aurelio turned, his movements as smooth and calculated as his bets, and strode toward an ornate door at the back of the room, leaving a trail of whispers in his wake.
To be continued...