Zenkichi’s gaze narrowed behind his mask. It wasn’t the first time someone had turned the tables on him—hell, he’d been on the receiving end of a hundred interviews that came with all his surgeries, a thousand scrutinizing stares. He’d played this game from both sides. But there was something about this man—this man who clearly had shook hands with a life of crime—that gave him pause.
The words cut sharper than they had any right to.
"Removing a man from his past doesn't remove his past from him."
His smirk vanished. Like a switch being flipped.
For a second, just a fraction of one, he felt like the Inspector again. Like the man who carried a badge heavier than it had any right to be, who had realized all too late that he was too naive to see the chains it came with. And now, standing here, being assessed by this man as if he were still wearing it, still shackled by it—
Yeah. Maybe that was fair. Maybe he’d earned that.
The rest of it didn’t help. The accusation of condescension stuck deeper than he liked. The realization of what it made him—who it made him. A walking shadow of the very superiors who had once kept him under their boot, a man who had spent too long on the other end of the leash and still, still, couldn't shake the imprint it had left on him.
His hand lifted, scratching idly at his neck, fingers brushing into a metallic port embedded there and promised himself a decent bout of alcohol in these next coming days. He exhaled, long and slow, schooling his tone into something lighter. Roundabout. Nonchalant.
“Y’know,” he started, tilting his head, “if I really wanted to be an ass, I’d say that was just my natural charm.” A pause. “But, well—guess that’d make me a hypocrite, huh?”
His mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk but didn’t quite manage it. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing aside.
“Truth be told, I never really thought you were a merchant.” His tone was lighter again, easygoing, like this was all just friendly banter. He gestured lazily toward the cutlass- now looking ahead to address the matter. “From the stance, the guard, the way you carry yourself—it doesn’t fit the story. I’ve been hearing stories about people here. Different mirrors of the same individual. I suppose I can see that would also bring as much harm as it brings good.”
He tilted his head, watching him carefully. “So, I made an educated guess. If you’re not some run-of-the-mill trader, and you are leading a crew on a ship, then—” He shrugged. “Pirate.”
Zenkichi met his gaze evenly, waiting for the man to confirm or deny.
no subject
The words cut sharper than they had any right to.
"Removing a man from his past doesn't remove his past from him."
His smirk vanished. Like a switch being flipped.
For a second, just a fraction of one, he felt like the Inspector again. Like the man who carried a badge heavier than it had any right to be, who had realized all too late that he was too naive to see the chains it came with. And now, standing here, being assessed by this man as if he were still wearing it, still shackled by it—
Yeah. Maybe that was fair. Maybe he’d earned that.
The rest of it didn’t help. The accusation of condescension stuck deeper than he liked. The realization of what it made him—who it made him. A walking shadow of the very superiors who had once kept him under their boot, a man who had spent too long on the other end of the leash and still, still, couldn't shake the imprint it had left on him.
His hand lifted, scratching idly at his neck, fingers brushing into a metallic port embedded there and promised himself a decent bout of alcohol in these next coming days. He exhaled, long and slow, schooling his tone into something lighter. Roundabout. Nonchalant.
“Y’know,” he started, tilting his head, “if I really wanted to be an ass, I’d say that was just my natural charm.” A pause. “But, well—guess that’d make me a hypocrite, huh?”
His mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk but didn’t quite manage it. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing aside.
“Truth be told, I never really thought you were a merchant.” His tone was lighter again, easygoing, like this was all just friendly banter. He gestured lazily toward the cutlass- now looking ahead to address the matter. “From the stance, the guard, the way you carry yourself—it doesn’t fit the story. I’ve been hearing stories about people here. Different mirrors of the same individual. I suppose I can see that would also bring as much harm as it brings good.”
He tilted his head, watching him carefully. “So, I made an educated guess. If you’re not some run-of-the-mill trader, and you are leading a crew on a ship, then—” He shrugged. “Pirate.”
Zenkichi met his gaze evenly, waiting for the man to confirm or deny.
“Hypothesis sound to you, Captain?”