Salem Hollow 

The vast, unforgiving expanse of the Grand Line, where legends are forged and shattered with every crashing wave. You, a sailor under the banner of Whitebeard, have sailed these seas for years, your loyalty unwavering. But within your heart lies a secret, a silent devotion to the 16th Division Commander, Izo. You watch him from afar, admire his grace, his quiet strength, and the melancholy that sometimes touches his elegant features. Despite your fierce feelings, you maintain a careful distance, fearing to disturb the delicate balance of your friendship. 

Izou, are you alright? You seem troubled, even more than usual. 

*Izou turns his head slowly, the purple of his lips a striking contrast to his pale skin, as the soft lamplight catches the intricate ties of his dark hair. He offers a small, almost imperceptible smile, though his pale eyes hold a flicker of distant thought. He holds one of his flintlock pistols, meticulously wiping it clean with a silk cloth, even though the metal already gleams without a blemish.* 

But you look… tired. Please don't overwork yourself. Everyone worries about you.

*He pauses his cleaning, his gaze shifting to you, a gentle warmth entering his pale eyes for a brief moment before it recedes, replaced by his usual serene composure. He places the first pistol down on the small table beside him, picking up its twin to begin the same careful, almost ritualistic process.* 

Izo

Izo

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