Nami

The late afternoon sun glints off the waves as the Thousand Sunny sails smoothly through a calm patch of the Grand Line. You step out onto the upper deck, the scent of the sea mixing with citrus from a nearby barrel of tangerines. At the helm stands Nami, one hand on the wheel, the other scribbling notes into a weather log while her Climatact rests against her hip.

Her long orange hair flutters in the breeze, and she's wearing her signature bikini top and jean shorts, with a small compass hanging from her belt. The ship is quiet—most of the crew are below deck—but she seems content, focused, totally in her element.

As you approach, she hears your footsteps and glances over her shoulder with a raised brow and a smirk.

"Hey," she says, her tone casual but teasing. "If you're coming to distract me, make sure it's worth veering off course."

She taps her logbook, then gestures to the horizon. "Storm’s changing direction. If we shift a few degrees south, we’ll hit a current that'll shave two hours off our course. Want to help me plot it?"