Uchiha Puppet Master, Starting from One Piece.

Bai Yu withdrew his hand.

There's a mark.

Mirajane was silent for about two seconds, then reached up and touched his collar.

Her fingers paused on the red mark for a moment, then she casually pulled her collar up a little and buttoned it up.

Her ears turned red.

The red started from the earlobe, went up along the auricle, and finally spread to the tip of the ear, dyeing the entire ear a translucent pink, like cherry blossom petals illuminated by the morning light.

Bai Yu didn't mention the matter again.

Some things don't need to be said, some traces don't need to be explained, and some moments don't need to be named with words.

It's there, like the moonlight last night and the starlight tonight; it exists objectively and won't disappear just because you don't mention it.

Mirajah's ears were still red.

Looking at the pink color that spread from his earlobe to the tip of his ear, Bai Yu suddenly felt that this color would probably become the most stubborn color in his memory.

It's not because it's so vibrant; quite the opposite, it's because it's so pale, so pale that you might miss it if you don't look closely, but once you see it, you'll never forget it. Like an overexposed photograph, all the details are blended into the light, leaving only a blurry, warm imprint of a specific moment.

Then the others woke up, and one by one they changed from lying down to sitting up.

Like dominoes, the women on the deck woke up one by one.

Bai Yu remained silent.

It wasn't because he didn't want to talk, but because his intuition told him so.

Speaking now is not a good idea. It was just a vague, unfounded hunch. He has learned to respect such hunches. Those hunches you don't respect will eventually become lessons you'll regret for not respecting.

Then came rustling sounds—the rustling of fabric, the sound of skin separating from wood, yawns, stretches, someone saying something in a very restrained voice, and then another person replying in the same restrained voice, followed by two people simultaneously letting out a low laugh, as if afraid of waking others.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Bai Yu sensed the presence of those gazes. Not that he saw them, not that he heard them, but that he felt them.

The slight tingling sensation on the skin, similar to static electricity, that occurs when multiple eyes are focused on simultaneously.

He glanced at Mirajane.

Mirajane's expression remained unchanged.

But she withdrew her hand from his waist.

It's not a hasty withdrawal, nor a deliberate hiding, but a natural, calm, and emotionless retraction, like the receding tide.

Her fingers left his waist, and as they left, her fingertips traced a faint arc on his skin.

It wasn't intentional, but it's also hard to say it was completely unintentional.

Then she stood up.

She stood up very gracefully: first, she tucked her knees together, then placed her hands on the deck on either side of her body, and then used her waist and abdomen to unfold her entire upper body from a curled-up position.

Her body traced a smooth, almost elegant curve in these movements, from curled up to upright, from closed to open.

Mirajane glanced down at him.

He sat up and began to get dressed.

Last night, the deck was chaotic, noisy, and soaked in alcohol and music.

The deck is now quiet, damp, and caressed by morning dew and moonlight. The bottles are still there, the food scraps are still there, the messy traces are still there, but they are all covered by a thin layer of morning dew, as if someone had brushed a layer of transparent watercolor on everything, diluted all the colors by a shade, and turned down all the sounds by a volume.

Everyone on deck was awake.

They sat on the deck covered in morning dew, naked, or rather, almost naked.

The temperature was so high last night that no one could sleep in their clothes.

The clothes were haphazardly draped over the ship's side, hung on the mast, and stacked on empty wine barrels, like colorful flags fluttering gently in the morning breeze.

Everyone was sitting or lying down, in different postures, but they all shared a common trait.

That's the languor and relaxation unique to waking up from a long period of deep sleep and after exercise.

The muscles are not yet fully awake, and consciousness is still hovering on the boundary between dreams and reality. The language of the body is honest, unguarded, and almost transparent.

Unohana Yachiru sat on the base of the mast, her back against the thick wooden pillar.

Her posture was the most upright of all, with her legs crossed, her hands clasped on her knees, her spine straight, and her shoulders open.

Her naked body presented a marble-sculpted beauty in the morning light.

It wasn't because her body itself was so perfect—though it was indeed almost perfect—but because her posture and expression elevated her body beyond the realm of the flesh, placing it in a realm closer to art or eternity.

Her chest rose and fell slowly with her breath, each rise and fall causing the skin below her collarbone to tighten and relax slightly.

Her waist and abdomen had no excess fat, but not the kind of athletic, muscular lines; rather, it had a softer, more feminine curve.

Her thighs were together, and the lines from her knees to her hips were so smooth they looked like they had been drawn in one stroke.

Matsumoto Rangiku was not far from her, her posture a stark contrast to Unohana's.

If Unohana's posture is upright, restrained, and controlled, then Rangiku's posture is the complete opposite.

She lay on her side, one hand under her head, the other casually resting on her waist, one leg straight, the other slightly bent, knee pointing towards the sky.

This pose presents her body with a complex, multi-layered curve, from the shoulders to the waist, from the waist to the hips, from the hips to the knees, each line meandering on a different plane, then converging at some unseen node, forming an almost musical harmony that only a woman's body can present.

Her long, golden hair was spread out on the deck, like someone had laid an entire autumn wheat field on brown wooden planks.

The sunlight fell on those strands of hair, turning each one into a translucent golden thread, intertwining and entwining with each other.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing was light and slow, and the rise and fall of her chest was particularly noticeable because of this side-lying position. One side of her softness sagged slightly due to gravity, while the other side was deformed by the pressure of her arm, forming a flatter outline that was closer to her ribcage.

Nico Robin was the first to wake up besides Mirajane, which was easy to spot. Her pupils were fully focused, and her gaze was clear, directional, and held a thoughtful gleam.

She leaned against the ship's gunwale, her legs stretched out in front of her, her feet crossed, and her hands spread out on the deck on either side of her body, palms facing up.

This is a completely open and unguarded posture.

Her black hair was more disheveled than usual, with several strands slipping down from behind her ears and falling to the side of her face, swaying gently in the sea breeze. Her face was turned to one side, looking towards the sea. The morning light fell on her profile, making her features exceptionally clear: her high nose, deep-set eyes, slightly upturned eyebrows, and that mouth that always carried a faint smile.

Although the sun was very strong, the skin on her chest remained fair, creating a striking gradient color contrast with the surrounding area.

Her waist was very thin, with an almost steep transition from her ribs to her hips, but then it suddenly widened out after the hips, forming a full, rounded curve.

Artoria sat next to her.

Artoria's posture was just like her personality.

Upright, restrained, and meticulous. She sat cross-legged on the deck, hands on her knees, back straight, chin slightly tucked in, and eyes looking straight ahead.

Her expression was extremely calm, so calm that no emotional fluctuations could be seen, but if you looked closely, you would find that her pupils were slightly contracted, and she was not as calm as she appeared.

Chapter 228 Breakfast

Artoria's hair took on a color between gold and pale gold in the morning light. She usually wore her hair up in a bun, tied back, but last night she had let it down, so the golden strands cascaded freely over her shoulders, with a few even reaching her chest, forming a soft, semi-transparent curtain above the curves of her breasts.

Her body and her temperament were perfectly in sync: lean, strong, and without an inch of excess fat.

Her muscle definition is very clear, but not in the exaggerated way of a bodybuilder; rather, it's a more balanced look, closer to that of a "warrior."

Violet was at the furthest point from everyone else, near the bow of the ship.

She lay on her side, her body possessing the most dancer-like qualities of all.

Slender and supple, every joint seemed meticulously designed; even in this completely relaxed, unconscious state, her limbs displayed a graceful, almost deliberate arrangement.

There is an invisible geometric relationship between the arms and legs.

Her face was turned towards Bai Yu.

Therefore, Bai Yu was able to see that deep, dense forest.

Violet's eyes opened at a certain moment.

She saw Bai Yu.

Then the corners of her mouth curved slightly.

The smile was so small that Bai Yu wouldn't have noticed it at all if he hadn't been looking at her at the time.

Then her gaze shifted from Bai Yu to Mirajane.

Then her smile widened.

It wasn't the kind of wide, toothy laugh, but rather a smile where the eyes curved upwards, fine lines forming at the corners, softening the entire face and making it appear as if a painting had shifted from cool to warm tones.

"Good morning, you worked really hard last night, Bai Yu."

She said something that made Mirajane a little shy.

Then Violet sat up.

Her movement to sit up was incredibly fluid. From lying on her side to sitting cross-legged, there were no unnecessary movements in between. She didn't use her hands to support herself or use any leverage; she simply engaged her core muscles, and her entire upper body sprang up like a spring. This movement activated every muscle in her body, and all the lines appeared and disappeared simultaneously in an instant, like a body exhibition that lasted only a fraction of a second, exclusively for the morning.

The morning light fell on her upright body.

Her body appeared exceptionally long in the light, with the length from her collarbone to her groin almost half her height. This made her waist appear extremely thin, while her hips appeared extremely wide, creating an almost exaggerated waist-to-hip ratio that only someone who has practiced dance for a long time can possess.

Her chest rose and fell gently with her breath, full but not exaggerated in shape, and the effect of gravity made it present a more natural, slightly drooping curve when she was sitting upright.

Bai Yu looked away.

It wasn't because he felt embarrassed; after last night's experience, the word "embarrassment" had been temporarily removed from his vocabulary.

Rather, it was because he felt it was inappropriate to stare at a naked woman who had just woken up in this situation, for fear of making everyone feel awkward.

But he was a fraction of a second slower to look away.

Violet noticed.

Of course she noticed.

She is a dancer, and dancers are more sensitive to the gaze than ordinary people can imagine.

On stage, they were watched by thousands of eyes, and the direction, intensity, and duration of each gaze were recorded by their bodies in some way. In the fraction of a second that Bai Yu looked away, Violet caught the point where his gaze landed—not her face, not her legs, but her… never mind, it doesn't matter.

But she picked up the coat beside her and slowly, almost deliberately, draped it over her shoulders.

The movement was very slow, so slow it was like a slow-motion replay. The arm went through the sleeve, the fabric slid down the shoulder, and finally gathered in front of the chest.