The speedboat pulls alongside MV Northern Star's accommodation dder, the vessel looming even rger than Pacific Dawn, dark blue hull streaked with rust, salt-stained white superstructure rising five stories above the waterline.

  "Permission to come aboard?" you call up.

  A woman appears at the rail, early forties, dark hair pulled back in a hasty bun, exhaustion visible in the set of her shoulders. "Granted," she replies, French accent threading through her English. "Captain Maria Decroix. Please, My fuel reserves are low, and I don’t have many decisions left."

  Robin's eyes bloom across the deck pting and superstructure as you climb. "Crew positions are scattered but rexed," she reports through the Web. "No concealed weapons. Three crew members watching from the port side, two near the accommodation dder. No ambush indicators.

  Hinata's Byakugan fres as she ascends the hull vertically, boots finding purchase on sheer metal. "Internal crew distribution matches civilian profiles," she confirms. "No concealed personnel. Bridge crew shows elevated stress markers but no hostile intent."

  You reach the deck to find Captain Decroix waiting, fnked by two crew members, one Filipino man in his thirties wearing grease-stained coveralls, one younger white woman with her hair in a practical ponytail. Both watch you with visible hope rather than suspicion.

  "I watched the broadcast footage from Atntic Provider," Decroix says as she leads you through narrow corridors. "I wanted desperately to believe it was real, but thirty years at sea teaches you to expect disappointment."

  "Pacific Dawn's captain said the same thing," you reply. "How are his engines looking now?"

  A crew member behind you speaks up. "We can see her from here. She lit up like sunrise. They’ve increased throttle, and announced their fuel flow already isn’t matching the engines."

  Decroix gnces back, then nods slowly. "Which is why I'm allowing this. If you're a con artist, you're the most eborate one in history."

  The bridge is cramped and dated, equipment showing years of deferred maintenance. Navigation consoles cluster around a central helm station. A wall-mounted screen sits to the right of the primary dispys, not critical equipment, but accessible.

  You pce your phone against the screen, letting golden light bloom slowly from the contact point. The glow spreads with deliberate theater, tracing seams in the bulkheads, highlighting deck ptes, flowing through the ship's structure like liquid sunrise.

  "Interface," you say clearly, voice carrying through the confined space. "Connection. Network Node. Energy Conversion. Refuel. Repair. Refill. Sustenance. Vigor. Regenerate. Aging Reversal. Cleanliness. Thermostasis. Aura Ward. Lucidity. Zero-Sleep. Warding Field. Muffling Aura. Silent Field. Mana Capacity."

  The golden shimmer deepens with each named enchantment, magical framework integrating with diesel engines and steel hull. Mana flows from the network, aircraft surplus channeling through the USS Portnd node, distance penalties negligible against the massive generation capacity.

  You pull your phone away as the glow fades, leaving the wall-mounted screen dispying a simple interface.

  "Captain Decroix," you say formally. "Touch the screen, please."

  She steps forward, extending one trembling hand to brush the dispy. The interface fres briefly, biometric lock engaging.

  "You're the only one who can access this," you expin. "Refuel generates six liters per hour by default, scale it up through the interface. Repair handles maintenance. Your crew gets sustenance, cleanliness, medical support. All active."

  Decroix stares at the screen, then at you. Her voice breaks slightly. “We’ve been at sea for nine days with eighteen hours of fuel remaining. You just saved twenty-three lives.”

  You meet her eyes. “Saved twenty-three lives,” you repeat, steady. “You seem to underestimate the value of this mission, Captain.”

  She frowns faintly, still caught between disbelief and relief.

  “In the two or three weeks it takes you to cross,” you continue, “and the two or three after that for trade to start moving again, almost half of humanity will die. Starvation, exposure, violence. We’re saving the half we’re still on time for.”

  The bridge is silent except for the low hum beneath your feet.

  “Expect pirates,” you say. “Warlords and Fools with guns and big ideas. You can give fuel away if you want. The real danger isn’t theft. It’s someone trying to control how it gets used. Fuel will let people rebuild, or it’ll let them force obedience. Small-time warlords will try to lock down supply to control local economies, and most of them will have guns to do it.”

  You gesture once toward the interface. “That’s why you, Captain, are the only one who can access it.”

  You let that sit for a moment. "Now test it," you reply simply. "Watch your fuel gauges rise."

  Robin's voice flows through the Web. "Coastal Express is maintaining approach. Captain Zhang is broadcasting calm acknowledgment, no anxiety detected."

  "We're moving to the next ship," you tell Decroix. "Enjoy your infinite fuel, Captain."

  As Rika guides the speedboat in a wide arc away from MV Northern Star, the tanker's crew visible at the rails watching your departure with visible relief.

  "Captain Webb," you say through the Telepathy Web. "We've finished the third tanker. Which escorts am I enchanting?"

  Webb's response comes immediately, his mental presence carrying the weight of command even through magical communication. "Five the USS Gridley, Arleigh Burke-css destroyer, Captain Sarah Morrison commanding. HMCS Calgary, Canadian Halifax-css frigate, Captain David Chen. Two former anti-piracy contractors operating under private security charters, MV Sentinel's Watch captained by Marcus Reid, and MV Guardian Spirit captained by Elena Vasquez. Finally there's USS Ford, Oliver Hazard Perry-css frigate commanded by Captain James Sullivan."

  "Prioritization?" you ask, watching the horizon where multiple gray hulls maintain holding patterns.

  "Morrison on Gridley is fuel-critical, maybe forty-eight hours remaining. She's been the most cooperative of the Navy captains, minimal political posturing. Reid and Vasquez on the contractors are both pragmatic, they recognized the infrastructure shift immediately and requested standard packages. Calgary's Chen is solid, following Morrison's lead. Sullivan on Ford is...complicated."

  You catch the hesitation. "Complicated how?"

  "He's not hostile," Webb crifies. "Just processing. Former carrier group commander, used to operating within established hierarchies. Watching his fuel gauges contradict thirty years of logistics training is causing some cognitive dissonance. He'll cooperate, but expect questions."

  "Understood. We'll start with Gridley then work through the contractors."

  "Acknowledged. Morrison is expecting you, she's been monitoring the tanker enchantments via visual confirmation. Her crew spotted the golden glow from six miles out."

  You end the connection and turn to Rika. "USS Gridley first. Captain Morrison, fuel-critical."

  Rika adjusts course smoothly, the speedboat's enchanted engines purring as she angles toward a sleek gray destroyer maintaining position two miles northeast. The vessel's distinctive Aegis radar arrays are clearly visible, along with multiple weapon systems bristling from the superstructure.

  "No concealed weapons or hostile formations," Robin reports through the Web, her Devil Fruit eyes already blooming across the destroyer's deck. "Crew positions are rexed. Bridge staff visible through windows, captain appears to be a woman in her early forties, dark skin, wearing Navy dress whites."

  "Confirmed," Hinata adds, Byakugan active. "No ambush indicators. Fuel reserves show critical levels in forward and aft tanks. Crew stress markers elevated but not hostile."

  "They're scared," Erza observes quietly. "Not of us. Of running out of fuel in open ocean."

  The speedboat approaches USS Gridley's starboard side, where an accommodation dder has already been lowered in anticipation of your arrival. A woman waits at the rail, tall, dark-skinned, captain's insignia visible on her uniform colr, expression carefully neutral but eyes tracking your approach with visible intensity.

  "Permission to come aboard?" you call up as Rika brings the speedboat alongside.

  "Granted," Captain Morrison replies, her voice carrying the distinctive cadence of someone who grew up in the Deep South. "Welcome to Gridley, Mr. Collins. I've been watching your work from a distance. Let's see if magic really does trump physics."

  Hinata walks vertically upward, she reaches the rail before you're halfway up the dder, Byakugan active and scanning for threats.

  Captain Sarah Morrison stands at the rail, one hand gripping the safety line, staring at the teenage girl defying gravity with visible disbelief. "What in the actual-"

  "Captain Morrison," Hinata says quietly as she reaches deck level, stepping over the rail with practiced ease. "N-no hostile intent detected. crew is anxious but cooperative."

  Morrison blinks, then her eyes widen in recognition. "You're Hinata Hyuga. From Naruto." Her voice carries the ft certainty of someone whose worldview just shattered. "You're actually real."

  You reach the deck with Erza behind you, boots ringing on metal. "Yep, I was shocked the first time too."

  Morrison tears her gaze from Hinata to you, then to Erza. "Erza Scarlet," she says faintly. "Titania. Jesus Christ, Webb wasn't exaggerating."

  "Bridge is this way. I need to see this with my own eyes before my engineer mutinies." she adds after a moment, stepping back from the rail.

  She leads you through narrow corridors, past crew members who press against bulkheads to make room. Several recognize Hinata and Erza, whispering urgently to each other. One sailor actually salutes Erza, who nods acknowledgment with visible confusion.

  "Your crew watches anime?" you ask Morrison as you climb a dder toward the bridge.

  "Half of them grew up on it," Morrison replies. "The other half thinks they've lost their minds. I was in the second category until about thirty seconds ago." She gnces back at Hinata. "How does that even work? The walking on walls thing?"

  "Chakra control," Hinata expins softly. "Focusing energy to my feet."

  Morrison shakes her head slowly. "Right. Chakra. Because that's a thing now."

  You give a small, crooked smile as you walk, hands loosely in your pockets, matching Morrison’s pace down the corridor.

  “From nerd to nerd,” you say lightly, tone conversational rather than instructional, “chakra didn’t start as ninja superpowers.”

  Morrison snorts once, sharp and disbelieving, but keeps listening.

  “Originally it was a spiritual framework,” you continue. “Seven Heavenly Chakras. Base of the spine up to the crown. The idea was enlightenment, moving a mortal closer to the divine. Angelic, depending on which tradition you’re reading.” You shrug faintly. “I’m rusty on that theology.”

  Hinata inclines her head slightly, acknowledging without interrupting.

  “I think it was Naruto that made the word mainstream,” you go on, “What started as a mythohistorical Japanese ninja, became a story that created a new energy type. What they modeled wasn’t pure Eastern ki or Western mana. It was a hybrid system.” You gnce at Morrison to make sure she’s still with you. She is, eyes narrowed, engineer-brain clearly chewing on it.

  “Internally, it’s more efficient than ki. Faster physical reinforcement, tighter control, walking on walls, reaction speed, body hardening. Externally, it behaves like cheap magic. Faster casting, lower cost, but it can’t scale the way pure mana does.” A beat. “Falls short of both masteries, but bridges them.”

  Erza folds her arms behind her head as she walks, amused. “You’re saying its banced or optimized.”

  “Close,” you reply without missing a step. “Shōnen optimization.”

  Morrison lets out a breath that’s half ugh, half disbelief. “So chakra’s real, but it’s... a mixed energy system?”

  “Pretty much,” you say. “Good survival and efficiency variety for early tier fighters and assassins. At te tiers, they get backhanded by cultivators mocking ck of purity and never match up to the power or versatility of standard wizards.”

  That earns a sharp, incredulous huff from her. “Of course.”

  Ahead, the bridge doors slide open, and is rger than the tanker bridges, packed with tactical consoles and radar dispys. Three officers stand at various stations, all turning to watch your entrance with visible tension. Hinata steps aside, threat scan complete.

  Morrison straightens, professionalism snapping back into pce like a reflex. “All right,” she says, squaring her shoulders. "XO, clear the bridge except for essential personnel," she orders. "And get Chief Engineer Rodriguez up here. He's going to want to see this."

  As the bridge empties to minimal crew, you approach a wall-mounted screen to the right of the primary navigation dispys. Not critical equipment, but accessible.

  "Here?" Morrison asks, gesturing to the screen.

  "Secure, yet accessible." You pce your phone against the surface, letting golden light bloom slowly from the contact point. This time you extend the duration deliberately, letting the glow spread across the deck, tracing deck seams, through the ship's structure.

  The bridge lights catch the shimmer, reflecting off polished surfaces. One officer inhales sharply. Another whispers something that sounds like a prayer.

  "Interface," you say clearly, voice carrying through the confined space. "Connection. Network Node. Energy Conversion. Refuel. Repair. Refill. Sustenance. Vigor. Regenerate. Aging Reversal. Cleanliness. Thermostasis. Aura Ward. Lucidity. Zero-Sleep. Warding Field. Muffling Aura. Silent Field. Mana Capacity."

  Each word settles into the destroyer's structure with theatrical shimmer, magical framework integrating with weapons systems and diesel engines. Mana flows from the network, aircraft surplus channeling through the USS Portnd node, distance penalties negligible.

  The golden glow reaches its peak, then fades gradually, leaving the wall-mounted screen dispying a simple interface.

  "Captain Morrison," you say formally. "Touch the screen."

  She approaches slowly, extending one hand to brush the dispy. The interface fres briefly.

  "You're the only one who can access this," you expin. "Refuel generates six liters per hour by default, scale it up through the interface. Repair handles maintenance. Your crew gets sustenance, cleanliness, medical support. All active."

  Morrison stares at the screen, then at you. "Our fuel gauges are going to start rising."

  "Within the hour," you confirm. "Coordinate with Captain Webb about which tanker you're escorting. They're heading to different regions, Europe via Cape Horn, Pacific routes, Atntic crossings. Your choice."

  She nods slowly, still processing. "This is real. This is actually happening."

  "You'll see it progress by the hour, but before that you'll see the cleanliness effects." you state simply. "We have four more escorts to enchant." as you walk out of the bridge and back down the dder to the boats.

  The speedboat approaches MV Sentinel's Watch, a lean vessel with reinforced pting and weapon mounts visible along the rails. Smaller than the Navy ships but purpose-built, every line suggesting efficiency over comfort.

  "Crew positions rexed," Robin reports through the Web. "Six personnel visible on deck, two near accommodation dder. No concealed weapons."

  Hinata steps off the speedboat and begins walking straight up the hull, feet finding purchase where none should exist, Byakugan active and luminous.

  Several crew members lean over the rail to watch, curiosity giving way to stunned silence as she ascends vertically toward them, close enough that they can see the faint veins around her eyes and the casual practice of her footing.

  A crewman opens his mouth to comment- then stops mid-word.

  “...What the fuck,” he murmurs, voice stripped of humor.

  Another crew member swallows. “That’s not cospy.”

  At the rail waits a man in his te thirties, tactical pants, faded polo embroidered Sentinel Security. Lean, weathered, eyes sharp but unafraid. He watches Hinata reach deck level without blinking, then exhales once, slow. “Well,” he says mildly, Australian accent clear. “That settles that.”

  "No hostile intent. Fuel reserves moderate. Crew shows surprise and minimal stress, professional discipline rather than desperation." Hinata reports. as you climb the dder with Erza behind you.

  “Permission to come aboard?” you call.

  “Granted,” he replies, extending a hand. “Captain Marcus Reid. And for the record, anyone who just watched that and thinks it’s cospy isn’t qualified to work for me.”

  A few nervous chuckles ripple through the deck crew. Tension bleeds away.

  Reid shakes your hand firmly. “We’ve been monitoring the tanker enchantments. Impressive work.”

  "Thanks," you reply as he leads you toward the bridge. "I'm curious, how did anti-piracy work before all this? I've heard about it but never really understood the day-to-day."

  Reid gnces back, surprised by the genuine interest. "Mostly boring, honestly. Convoy escort through high-risk waters, Gulf of Aden, Strait of Macca, West African coast. We'd position ourselves between commercial ships and known pirate vectors, make ourselves visible enough to discourage opportunistic attacks. Actual engagement was rare. Pirates don’t want fights. They want compliance. Armed presence breaks the math."

  "Sounds like deterrence rather than combat."

  "Exactly," Reid confirms, ascending a dder. "The clients paid for presence and capability. Most contracts went six months without firing a shot. When things did kick off, it was usually warning shots across the bow, enough to convince the bastards we weren't worth the trouble."

  The bridge is compact and functional, tactical dispys showing radar and communications equipment. A mounted screen sits to the right of the helm.

  "Here," Reid says, gesturing.

  You pce your phone against the surface, letting golden light bloom slowly. The glow spreads across the deck, tracing seams in the bulkheads, flowing through the ship's structure with deliberate theater.

  "Interface. Connection. Network Node. Energy Conversion. Refuel. Repair. Refill. Sustenance. Vigor. Regenerate. Aging Reversal. Cleanliness. Thermostasis. Aura Ward. Lucidity. Zero-Sleep. Warding Field. Muffling Aura. Silent Field. Mana Capacity."

  The bridge crew watches in silence, one woman crossing her arms with visible skepticism that fades as the shimmer intensifies. The glow peaks, then recedes, leaving the screen dispying a clean interface.

  "Captain Reid, touch the screen."

  He steps forward without hesitation, pcing one calloused hand on the dispy. The interface fres, biometric lock engaging.

  "You're the only one with access," you expin. "Refuel generates six liters per hour by default—scale it through the interface. Your crew gets full sustenance and medical support. All active."

  Reid studies the screen, then nods once. "Clean. Functional. No mysticism fluff. I like it." He gnces at you.

  He looks back at you. “Guardian Spirit next, then Ford?”

  “Yes,” you confirm. “But before we move on, understand something.”

  Reid’s posture changes. Attentive.

  “The governments are gone,” you say ftly. “Not weakened. Not reorganizing. Gone. That changes piracy.”

  You let a second pass.

  “It won’t be opportunistic anymore. It’ll be desperate. More aggressive. People who were already willing to kill for profit will now kill for survival, and they’ll do it closer to shore, with fewer restraints.”

  Reid’s jaw tightens.

  “If they’re willing to take ships out to sea to cause problems,” you continue, “use your imagination about what they’re doing on nd.”

  You meet his eyes. “Take advantage of that. Remove threats permanently.”

  “If anyone questions your authority,” you add, “I’m your employer. This operation is your authorization.”

  Reid nods once, slow.

  “When you reach your destinations, you’ll find local warlords and fools,” you go on. “Some will mix ideology with theft. Some will just want leverage.”

  You gesture vaguely, encompassing the ocean, the routes, the future.

  “The fuel can be stolen. It can be handed out. I don’t care. What cannot happen is the ships being stolen or destroyed. If a tanker goes down, hundreds of thousands die before we can repce it.”

  That nds harder.

  “They will try to control fuel to control people,” you say. “The worst threat isn’t theft. It’s coercion.”

  Reid exhales through his nose. He already knows where this is going.

  “If you’re escorting,” you finish, “you’re not just protecting hulls. You’re preventing new tyrannies from forming. Short term, a small tyrant might create a little order.”

  Your voice hardens slightly. “The sooner they’re removed, the better.”

  Silence on the bridge.

  Then Reid nods again. No hesitation. No moral grandstanding. “Understood,” he says. “Rules of engagement adjusted.”

  “We’re not asking for loyalty,” you say. “Just competence.”

  A thin, professional smile. “You’ll get it.”

  As you turn to leave the bridge, you pause just long enough to look back at Reid.

  “One more thing,” you say. “Be ready for tonight’s video.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Video?”

  “It’s public,” you reply. “And it changes the entire status quo of the ocean.”

  That gets his full attention.

  “Countries, governments, authority, everything people think still exists out there,” you continue. “After tonight, nobody will be able to pretend this is just another crisis.”

  Reid nods slowly. “Understood. We’ll be ready.”

  You step back toward the dder. Minutes ter, you’re gone, the speedboat already angling toward Guardian Spirit.

  SnafuSam