The girl's smile never faltered, not even for a moment.
Standing in the corner of Alcaster's study, Koala maintained her rigid posture and fixed expression as she had for the three days since her arrival at the Reed household. Her small hands were clasped before her, her eyes downcast but alert—ready to respond to any command. The smile remained frozen on her face like a mask, painful in its unnatural permanence.
Alcaster observed her without appearing to do so, dividing his attention between the historical text he was studying and careful assessment of his new "acquisition." The more he watched, the more the full extent of her psychological conditioning became apparent.
When he shifted suddenly in his chair, she flinched—a tiny, nearly imperceptible movement followed by an immediate intensification of her smile, as if terrified that her momentary lapse might be punished. When he requested tea, she moved with mechanical precision, her hands trembling slightly as she poured, the smile never wavering despite the obvious fear of making a mistake.
Most telling of all was her behavior when she believed herself unobserved. Twice now, Alcaster had deliberately turned his back for extended periods, creating a small mirror arrangement that allowed him to watch her reflection. Even then, alone and presumably unwatched, her smile remained fixed. The conditioning was so thorough that she maintained her terrified grin even when no one appeared to be monitoring her compliance.
This wasn't mere obedience enforced through threat of punishment. This was the systematic destruction of a child's sense of self—a complete rewiring of natural responses until the mask became inseparable from the person beneath it.
The Celestial Dragons' cruelty reached its most perverse height not in physical torture, Alcaster reflected, but in this psychological obliteration—turning a human being into a smiling automaton whose every action was dictated by fear.
"Koala," he said softly, closing his book.
She straightened immediately, smile widening to painful dimensions. "Yes, young master?"
"How long have you been standing?"
The question seemed to confuse her. In her previous household, questions had likely been tests with painful consequences for wrong answers.
"I... I am ready to serve at all times, young master," she replied, the rehearsed response revealing that standing for hours was expected and any complaint unthinkable.
"I see." Alcaster kept his tone neutral. Moving too quickly to show kindness would only frighten her more—any deviation from what she expected from a Celestial Dragon would be processed as a potential trap. "You've been here three days now. Are your quarters adequate?"
Another flicker of confusion crossed her eyes before being suppressed beneath the smile. "Any accommodation provided by the master is more than this slave deserves."
The formal, unchildlike phrasing confirmed what Alcaster already suspected—she had been made to repeat such phrases until they became automatic.
"Nevertheless," he continued carefully, "as my personal attendant, your physical condition affects your performance. Inadequate rest would be inefficient."
He deliberately framed the concern in terms of functionality rather than compassion. Speaking the language of ownership while subtly introducing the concept that her wellbeing mattered—at least instrumentally—was a necessary first step.
"The quarters are... adequate, young master," she answered cautiously, testing whether this was the correct response.
"Good. And your meals? Have you been provided with sufficient nutrition?"
Her smile faltered for just an instant—a crack in the facade that revealed genuine confusion. Questions about her welfare were clearly outside her experience with Celestial Dragons.
"I receive whatever rations the slave master deems appropriate," she said finally.
Alcaster made a note to investigate the standard slave diet in the Reed household. He couldn't suddenly demand special treatment for Koala without raising suspicions, but there might be ways to improve her nutrition incrementally.
"From now on, you'll take your meals here," he decided. "I require your presence during my studies, and leaving for regular meal breaks would disrupt my concentration. The kitchen will send appropriate portions."
It was a transparent excuse for ensuring she was properly fed, but framed in terms of his convenience rather than concern for her wellbeing.
"As you wish, young master." Her smile remained fixed, but a slight easing of tension in her shoulders suggested the arrangement wasn't unwelcome.
"Additionally," Alcaster continued, "your sleeping schedule will now align with mine. When I retire, you'll be dismissed to your quarters. When I wake, you'll report for duty."
This represented a significant improvement over standard slave conditions, where rest periods were minimal and often interrupted for the masters' convenience. By tying her schedule to his own, Alcaster was effectively guaranteeing her at least eight hours of uninterrupted rest each night.
"Is that... permitted, young master?" she asked, the question revealing just how abnormal such treatment would seem.
"I determine what is permitted regarding my personal staff," Alcaster replied with calculated arrogance. "My father granted me full authority over your management."
This wasn't entirely true—his father would certainly intervene if he thought Alcaster was being too lenient with a slave—but it established a boundary that might provide some protection for the changes he intended to implement.
"Now," he said, gesturing to a small stool in the corner that had thus far gone unused, "sit there while I continue my studies. Standing unnecessarily wastes energy that could be directed toward more productive service."
The logic was impeccable from an efficiency standpoint—and completely at odds with how Celestial Dragons typically treated their slaves, for whom discomfort was often the point rather than an inefficiency to be eliminated.
Koala hesitated, clearly torn between the direct order to sit and her conditioning that demanded constant, uncomfortable alertness.
"That is an instruction," Alcaster clarified, infusing his voice with just enough authority to override her conditioning.
Slowly, ready to spring up at the slightest indication that this was a test or trick, Koala perched on the edge of the stool. Her smile remained fixed, but her eyes darted between Alcaster and the door, as if expecting punishment to arrive at any moment.
"Good," Alcaster nodded, returning to his book. "This arrangement will allow for more sustainable service."
He didn't look up again for some time, giving her space to adjust to this small but significant change in her circumstances. When he finally glanced in her direction, he noticed her posture had relaxed fractionally, though the smile remained as vigilant as ever.
It was a tiny victory, but a necessary first step. The journey to undoing the psychological damage inflicted upon her would be long and delicate, requiring patience, subtlety, and careful calibration of his approach to avoid triggering deeper trauma responses.
But he had time—a full month before Fisher Tiger's planned escape—to establish a foundation of basic security and predictability in Koala's life. And with that foundation, perhaps eventually, the smile might fade enough to reveal the child beneath.
Over the next week, Alcaster implemented a careful strategy of small, incremental improvements to Koala's conditions. Each change was minor enough to avoid notice when viewed individually, but collectively they represented a significant shift in her treatment.
Her meals, now taken in his study, consisted of the same food prepared for Alcaster himself rather than the standard slave rations—though served in simpler dishware and smaller portions to maintain appearances. The quality and quantity of nutrition represented a dramatic improvement over what she had previously received.
Her quarters—a small closet-like room adjacent to Alcaster's chambers that had originally contained a thin pallet on the floor—were gradually enhanced with "discarded" items from elsewhere in the household. A proper mattress deemed "too firm" for another bedroom. A blanket with a minor tear that would have been thrown away. A small shelf for personal possessions, justified as storage for items she might need to retrieve quickly for his service.
Most importantly, Alcaster established a consistent routine that allowed Koala to predict what would happen next—a crucial element in rebuilding a sense of security for someone whose previous existence had been defined by random cruelty and constant anxiety.
Morning began with her quietly preparing his study while he took breakfast with his family. Then educational activities where she would sit on the stool in the corner, initially just observing but gradually being invited to assist by retrieving specific books or materials. Midday meal together in the study, followed by Alcaster's training sessions with either Phoros or Fisher Tiger, during which Koala would prepare his study for afternoon lessons. Evening would bring more reading or writing before dismissal to her quarters when Alcaster retired.
The predictability of this schedule seemed to have a calming effect. By the end of the week, Koala's constant trembling had subsided to occasional moments of anxiety, usually triggered by unexpected sounds or movements. The fixed smile remained, but its intensity varied slightly with her actual emotional state—a sign that the rigid psychological conditioning was beginning to show hairline fractures.
On the eighth day, Alcaster decided to risk a more direct approach.
"Koala," he said during their midday meal, "you don't need to smile when we're alone."
Her eyes widened, the smile freezing in place as fear flooded her expression. "Young master?"
"The constant facial contraction wastes energy," Alcaster explained, maintaining the efficiency rationale that had proven effective in justifying other changes. "When we are alone in this room, a neutral expression is acceptable."
She stared at him, smile still rigidly in place, clearly struggling to process this instruction that contradicted her most fundamental conditioning.
"This is not a test," Alcaster added gently. "It is a practical direction for conserving your energy during private duties."
Slowly, with visible effort, Koala allowed her smile to fade slightly—not disappearing entirely, but softening to a less painful rictus. Even this small relaxation seemed to cause her physical discomfort, as if the muscles had forgotten how to arrange themselves in any other configuration.
"Good," Alcaster nodded approvingly. "Over time, this will improve your stamina for other tasks."
He deliberately returned to his meal, acting as if this monumental shift was merely a minor procedural adjustment. From the corner of his eye, he could see her struggling with the new permission, her expression fluctuating between the fixed smile and something more neutral as competing instincts battled within her.
By the end of the meal, her face had settled into what might be called a cautious blankness—not natural or relaxed, but no longer contorted into the painful smile that had been her constant mask. It was progress, however small.
"When others are present," Alcaster added as he finished eating, "you should maintain the expression expected of you. This arrangement applies only when we are alone."
The implied understanding—that this was a private accommodation that needed to be hidden from others—seemed to help Koala contextualize the change. She nodded, her blank expression shifting back to the familiar smile as she cleared the dishes, then returning to neutrality when the door closed behind the servant who collected the tray.
That evening, as Alcaster prepared to dismiss her for the night, he noticed something that gave him hope—when her back was turned as she organized his books, her expression in profile showed a complete absence of the smile. For those few moments when she believed herself unobserved, she had allowed the mask to drop entirely.
It was a significant breakthrough in such a short time—evidence that beneath the conditioning, the real Koala was still present, waiting for safety to emerge.
The communication breakthrough came unexpectedly, during what should have been a routine afternoon in Alcaster's study.
Nearly two weeks had passed since Koala's arrival, and their established patterns had created a foundation of tentative trust. When alone, she now consistently maintained a neutral expression, though the smile would immediately snap back into place at any sound from the hallway or knock at the door.
Alcaster was working through a complex historical text about the Kingdom of Alabasta, taking notes for his private research, when he encountered a particularly beautiful illustration of the kingdom's desert landscapes.
"Have you ever seen a desert, Koala?" he asked, one of the casual questions he had begun incorporating into their interactions—always posed gently, with no pressure for response beyond what she felt comfortable giving.
She looked up from the bookshelf she was organizing. "No, young master."
"This one is called Alabasta. The illustration shows sand that stretches further than the eye can see." He turned the book so she could glimpse the image from her position.
Something unexpected happened then. Instead of the usual polite acknowledgment, Koala's eyes widened with genuine interest.
"It looks like the ocean," she said softly, "but made of sand."
The observation wasn't remarkable in itself, but it represented the first spontaneous, personal thought she had expressed since her arrival—not a conditioned response or careful answer to a direct question, but a genuine reaction.
Alcaster maintained a neutral expression, careful not to highlight the significance of the moment lest she retreat back into her protective shell.
"Yes, that's an apt comparison," he agreed. "In fact, sailors who cross deserts often use many of the same navigation techniques they would use at sea, tracking stars instead of landmarks."
Koala took a hesitant step closer, her eyes still fixed on the illustration. "We used the stars too," she said, then immediately tensed, as if realizing she had volunteered personal information without being asked.
"For fishing?" Alcaster prompted gently.
A moment of silence stretched between them as Koala visibly wrestled with whether to continue this dangerous deviation into personal territory.
"Yes," she finally whispered. "My father showed me the Fish Star. When it appears, the black-fin school follows."
It was the most she had ever revealed about her past—a tiny window into her life before enslavement.
"Navigation is a valuable skill," Alcaster commented, deliberately focusing on the practical aspect rather than the emotional significance. "Perhaps you could help me understand some of the maritime maps in my collection sometime."
The suggestion—that her knowledge might be valued rather than dismissed—seemed to startle her. But before she could respond, a knock at the door sent her scrambling back to her position, the fixed smile instantly returning to her face.
The interruption was merely a servant delivering afternoon refreshments, but the moment of openness had passed. When they were alone again, Koala remained in her servant posture, the brief glimpse of her true self carefully hidden away once more.
But a threshold had been crossed. She had, however briefly, spoken as herself rather than as a conditioned slave. The real Koala was still there, and now Alcaster had proof she could still emerge under the right circumstances.
That night, he added a small book on celestial navigation to her shelf in the closet-bedroom—not directly acknowledged, not formally given, but placed where she would find it. A resource that connected to her expressed interest without drawing attention to the significance of what she had revealed.
The next morning, he noticed the book had been moved slightly, its spine cracked as if someone had opened it carefully in the night.
Another small victory in the quiet war against her conditioning.
The breakthrough with the desert illustration opened a narrow channel for more personal communication. Over the following days, Alcaster carefully cultivated opportunities for Koala to share fragments of her past life, always maintaining the fiction that these exchanges were either educational or practical from his perspective.
Maps became their medium of connection. Under the guise of studying global geography, Alcaster would display various navigational charts and regional maps, occasionally asking questions that allowed Koala to demonstrate knowledge from her fishing village background.
"This current pattern near Foolshout Island," he would say, indicating a swirl on an East Blue chart. "Would it affect fishing routes?"
At first, her answers were minimal and hesitant, but as the pattern repeated without negative consequences, she gradually began offering more detailed responses.
"The Spinning Current changes with the seasons," she explained during one such session, temporarily forgetting her usual formal address in her focus on the familiar topic. "In summer it moves clockwise and brings the sweet-fin near shore, but in winter it reverses and the village boats must go further out."
Each such exchange revealed another piece of her history. Her father had been the village's lead navigator, responsible for guiding the small fishing fleet to the best grounds. Her mother preserved and prepared the catch for trading with neighboring islands. Her home had been small but positioned with a clear view of the harbor, allowing her father to monitor weather conditions.
These fragments emerged not as a coherent narrative but as scattered recollections, often triggered by specific details in the maps or illustrations. Alcaster collected and organized them mentally, gradually assembling a picture of the life she had lost when Celestial Dragons had descended upon her village.
The most revealing moment came almost three weeks after her arrival, when Alcaster was reviewing a political map showing World Government tribute requirements by region.
"Foolshout Island," he noted, finding the small marking in the East Blue section. "It shows a recent change in tribute classification."
Koala, who had been arranging books nearby, went completely still. When Alcaster glanced up, he saw something he hadn't witnessed before—beneath the neutral expression they maintained in private, a flash of pure anger darkened her eyes.
"They couldn't pay," she said, her voice barely audible. "The storms destroyed half the fleet. We asked for more time."
The pieces connected in Alcaster's mind. The village's inability to meet World Government tribute demands after a natural disaster. The punishment disguised as "justice" for this failure. The enslavement of survivors, including children like Koala, taken as "compensation" for the unpaid tribute.
"I see," Alcaster said simply, allowing the silence that followed to honor the magnitude of what had been revealed.
After a long moment, Koala spoke again, her voice small but steady. "They smiled at first too."
"Who did?" Alcaster asked softly.
"The people who came in the big ship. They smiled and said they understood about the storms. They invited the village leaders aboard to discuss new terms." Her eyes had taken on a distant quality, seeing not the study but the memories. "When they came back, they weren't our people anymore. They were... empty. They gathered us in the square and told us we now belonged to the Celestial Dragons."
The familiar pattern of World Government operations—false diplomacy followed by absolute subjugation.
"And then they took you," Alcaster said gently.
Koala nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. "They separated the children. Said we were... adaptable. Valuable." Her hand moved unconsciously to touch her back—where, Alcaster knew, the Celestial Dragon slave brand had been burned into her skin. "They taught us to smile. Always smile. Or else."
Her expression had remained neutral throughout this recounting, but tears had begun streaming silently down her face—perhaps the first time she had allowed herself to cry since her capture.
Alcaster fought against his instinct to offer comfort, knowing that any sudden movement toward her might shatter this moment of trust. Instead, he simply closed the map and set it aside.
"That's enough geography for today," he said quietly. "Perhaps you could prepare the study for tomorrow's lessons while I attend my training session."
The return to routine seemed to help Koala regain her composure. She wiped her tears quickly, nodding with what might have been relief at the shift back to familiar territory.
"Yes, young master," she replied, the formal address returning as she retreated to the safety of her conditioned role.
But something had changed. She had shared her darkest memory voluntarily, had allowed herself to cry in his presence, had momentarily dropped all pretense of the obedient slave to speak truth about the system that had destroyed her life.
It was a profound demonstration of trust—fragile and tentative, but real.
As Alcaster left for his scheduled training with Fisher Tiger, he considered how to honor that trust without pushing too quickly for more than she could safely give. The psychological wounds inflicted on Koala went deep, and healing would require time and patience.
But perhaps there was another perspective that might help her—one that Alcaster, for all his understanding and good intentions, couldn't fully provide.
"You wish me to speak with the human child?" Fisher Tiger asked, his expression guarded as he toweled sweat from his massive frame. They had just completed their regular training session, focused today on defensive techniques that utilized an opponent's momentum against them.
"She was captured from an East Blue fishing village after they couldn't meet tribute demands," Alcaster explained. "Her conditioning is severe—trained to smile constantly to avoid punishment. I've made some progress in establishing basic trust, but..."
"But you are still a Celestial Dragon to her," Fisher Tiger finished, understanding immediately. "No matter your intentions, you represent those who enslaved her."
"Exactly." Alcaster nodded. "You have a perspective I can't offer—experience as both a slave and someone planning for freedom."
The fishman was silent for a long moment, contemplating. "It's risky," he finally said. "If she reacts with fear or reports the interaction inappropriately..."
"I've considered that," Alcaster acknowledged. "We'll present it as part of my training routine—you demonstrating techniques with her as an observer. Any conversation can appear to be incidental to that purpose."
Fisher Tiger studied him thoughtfully. "Your concern for this child seems genuine. Why? One human slave among thousands in Mary Geoise—what makes her different?"
It was a fair question, one that Alcaster had asked himself. Why focus so much attention on Koala when countless others suffered under the same system?
"Because she's where I can help right now," he answered honestly. "I can't free everyone enslaved here—not yet. But I can try to heal one child's wounds, prepare her for eventual freedom, maybe give her back some sense of self that they tried to erase."
The fishman nodded slowly, something like respect showing in his eyes. "Small victories matter when the war seems unwinnable." He sighed, his massive chest expanding. "Very well. Bring her to our next session. I will speak with her—carefully."
"Thank you," Alcaster said simply.
"Don't thank me yet," Fisher Tiger cautioned. "Trust is fragile for those who have had it violated so completely. She may not be ready to accept help from anyone—especially not a fishman slave serving a Celestial Dragon child."
His warning was valid, but Alcaster had observed Koala carefully enough to believe she might be receptive. The glimpses of her true self that emerged during their map discussions revealed intelligence and resilience beneath the conditioning—qualities that might allow her to recognize a potential ally, even in unexpected form.
"We'll proceed with caution," Alcaster assured him. "If she seems uncomfortable, we won't push."
Fisher Tiger grunted agreement as he prepared to be escorted back to the slave quarters. "Three days until our next session, then. Let us hope your instincts about this child are correct."
As the fishman departed under guard, Alcaster returned to his chambers, mind already planning how to prepare Koala for the meeting without triggering her anxieties. Another careful step in the delicate process of rebuilding what the Celestial Dragons had tried to destroy.
Two days later
"Today's training will include observation," Alcaster explained as he led Koala toward the private exercise room where he met with Fisher Tiger. He had spent the past two days subtly preparing her for this encounter, mentioning his fishman karate instructor in casual conversation and explaining the educational value of different combat perspectives.
"You'll sit quietly in the designated area," he continued. "Your role is to observe the techniques and later help me record notes about what was demonstrated. Do you understand?"
"Yes, young master," Koala replied, her smile firmly in place now that they were outside the privacy of his study. Her eyes betrayed anxiety about this deviation from their established routine, but her conditioned obedience prevented any voiced concerns.
When they entered the training room, Fisher Tiger was already present, going through warm-up exercises with fluid grace that belied his massive size. He paused as they entered, bowing with the formal deference expected of a slave toward a Celestial Dragon.
"Young master," he intoned, though Alcaster detected the subtle irony that had become their private acknowledgment of their true relationship.
"Tiger," Alcaster nodded. "This is Koala, my personal attendant. She will be observing today's session to assist with my training records."
Fisher Tiger's eyes moved to the small girl, his expression carefully neutral. Alcaster saw him note the fixed smile, the tense posture, the downcast eyes that nonetheless darted quick, assessing glances around the room—all the hallmarks of severe conditioning that the fishman would recognize from his own observations of fellow slaves.
"As you wish, young master," Fisher Tiger replied formally. "Where should the attendant be positioned?"
"There," Alcaster indicated a small bench against the wall, positioned to provide a clear view of the training area while keeping Koala at a safe distance from any physical demonstrations. "Koala, you may sit."
She obeyed immediately, perching on the edge of the bench with her hands folded in her lap, smile fixed in place, the picture of the perfectly obedient slave.
The training session began normally, with Fisher Tiger guiding Alcaster through warm-up exercises followed by basic forms of fishman karate. They had long since established a rhythm to these sessions—genuine instruction interspersed with quiet exchanges of information whenever they moved beyond the range of easy eavesdropping.
Today, however, their usual pattern was adjusted to gradually include Koala in their orbit. Fisher Tiger would demonstrate a technique, Alcaster would attempt to replicate it, and then one of them would move closer to Koala's position to provide an explanation that she could clearly hear.
"This stance channels water energy even when not submerged," Fisher Tiger explained during one such moment, demonstrating a fluid movement near where Koala sat. "All living beings contain water—we are simply more conscious of working with it."
His voice was deliberately gentle, his massive form positioned to appear less intimidating despite his height and musculature. Alcaster noticed Koala's eyes flicking up to watch the demonstration with what seemed like genuine interest rather than obligatory attention.
As the session progressed, they gradually established a triangle of interaction—Fisher Tiger demonstrating, Alcaster practicing, and explanations directed increasingly toward Koala's position until it became natural for questions to be addressed to her directly.
"Do you understand the difference between these two blocking forms?" Alcaster would ask, gesturing toward Koala while Fisher Tiger demonstrated.
At first, her responses were minimal nods or whispered affirmations, her smile never wavering. But as the pattern continued without any negative consequences, she began to engage more actively, even making small gestures to indicate her comprehension.
The critical moment came nearly an hour into the session. Fisher Tiger was demonstrating a defensive technique that redirected an opponent's energy—a concept that had parallels in maritime navigation, where ships worked with rather than against ocean currents.
"Your village would have understood this principle," the fishman said casually, addressing Koala directly while maintaining the pretense that this was simply an instructional observation. "Fishing communities learn to work with the sea's power rather than opposing it directly."
Koala's eyes widened slightly at this reference to her past, her gaze lifting to meet Fisher Tiger's for the first time. "Yes," she said softly. "The currents are stronger than any ship."
It was a simple exchange, but significant—she had responded directly to Fisher Tiger, a fellow slave, with a personal observation rather than a conditioned reply.
Alcaster, recognizing the importance of the moment, deliberately moved to the far side of the training area to retrieve a towel, creating space for their interaction to continue without his immediate presence as a Celestial Dragon.
Fisher Tiger seized the opportunity with subtle skill, continuing his demonstration while establishing a quiet conversation that Alcaster could hear but appeared not to be closely monitoring.
"The sea teaches wisdom that land-dwellers often forget," the fishman commented, flowing through a series of movements that emphasized balanced force. "My people live beneath the waves but understand the same principles as surface fishermen—respect the water's power, move with it rather than against it."
"You're... from underwater?" Koala asked hesitantly, her curiosity momentarily overriding her conditioning.
"Fish-Man Island, in the depths of the Grand Line," Fisher Tiger confirmed. "A kingdom of fishmen and merfolk beneath the Red Line."
"I thought those were just stories," Koala whispered, her fixed smile softening slightly with genuine wonder.
"Many truths are dismissed as stories by those who haven't seen them," Fisher Tiger replied, his voice gentle but carrying deeper meaning. "Just as many lies are accepted as truth when repeated by those with power."
This philosophical observation might have seemed beyond a child's comprehension, but Alcaster noticed Koala's subtle nod of understanding. Her experiences had given her insight beyond her years into the nature of power and deception.
"Is your home beautiful?" she asked, the question revealing both childlike curiosity and a wistful longing for places beyond her current captivity.
"Very," Fisher Tiger answered, his eyes growing distant with memory. "Coral palaces that glow with their own light. Forests of swaying kelp taller than the masts of ships. Fish of every color swimming through our streets like birds through the air above."
The description painted a vivid image of a world entirely different from the stone and marble opulence of Mary Geoise—a natural beauty contrasting with the artificial grandiosity of the Celestial Dragons' domain.
"Do they have slaves there too?" Koala asked suddenly, her voice barely audible.
Fisher Tiger's expression darkened briefly before he controlled it. "No," he said firmly. "My people understand too well the pain of being treated as less than equal. Fish-Man Island has no slaves."
The simple statement seemed to affect Koala deeply. The concept of a society without slavery—something she might have taken for granted before her capture—now represented a nearly unimaginable alternative to the reality she had been conditioned to accept.
"Young master," Fisher Tiger called, smoothly transitioning back to their formal training dynamic as he sensed they had pushed far enough for this initial meeting. "Shall we conclude with cooling exercises?"
Alcaster rejoined them, noting the subtle change in Koala's demeanor. Though her smile had returned to its fixed position, her eyes held a new awareness—a spark of connection that hadn't been there before.
"Yes, let's conclude," he agreed. "Koala, have you observed enough to assist with my training records?"
"Yes, young master," she replied. But beneath the formal address, Alcaster detected a new quality in her voice—not quite hope, perhaps, but a tentative engagement with possibilities beyond her conditioned existence.
As they completed the session and prepared to depart, Fisher Tiger bowed formally to Alcaster, then turned to include Koala in the gesture—a subtle acknowledgment of her as a person rather than merely an extension of her master's will.
"Until our next session, young master," he said. Then, with a glance at Koala: "The currents eventually change direction. All waters find their way back to the sea."
The cryptic statement would mean nothing to casual observers, but Alcaster saw understanding flash in Koala's eyes—a recognition of the message about freedom and return that Fisher Tiger had embedded in the fisherman's metaphor.
As they left the training room, Koala walked slightly differently than before—her steps marginally firmer, her posture fractionally straighter. The changes were too subtle for most to notice, but to Alcaster, who had been carefully observing her progress, they represented significant evolution.
She had connected with another slave—not just any slave, but one who maintained his dignity and identity despite his circumstances, who spoke of a homeland without slavery, who offered perspectives beyond the narrow worldview the Celestial Dragons enforced.
In that brief interaction, Fisher Tiger had accomplished what might have taken Alcaster weeks to achieve on his own—he had given Koala a glimpse of possibility beyond the closed system of Mary Geoise, a reminder that other worlds existed where people lived differently.
It wasn't freedom, not yet. But it was a crack in the conceptual prison that had been built around her mind—a first step toward imagining alternatives to perpetual slavery.
As they returned to Alcaster's study, Koala's fixed smile seemed less rigid than before. When the door closed behind them and they were alone once more, she let it fade entirely, replacing it with an expression Alcaster hadn't seen before—thoughtfulness.
"Would you like to continue our work with the East Blue maps?" Alcaster asked, offering a return to their established pattern of interaction.
Koala nodded, but instead of immediately retrieving the materials, she hesitated, gathering courage for what was clearly a difficult question.
"Young master," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, "is it true what Tiger said? About Fish-Man Island having no slaves?"
The query revealed how profoundly Fisher Tiger's words had affected her. It wasn't just curiosity about a distant place—it was the beginning of questioning the universality of the system that had consumed her life.
"Yes," Alcaster confirmed simply. "There are many places in the world where people live without slavery."
He deliberate avoided value statements or political commentary, allowing the simple fact to stand on its own. Koala absorbed this information silently, her expression unreadable as she processed its implications.
After a long moment, she moved to retrieve the maps they had been studying, returning to their routine activities. But something had shifted in her demeanor—a subtle straightening of her spine, a new alertness in her eyes.
The child who had arrived at the Reed household with a frozen smile and shattered spirit was slowly beginning to reassemble herself. Not yet healed, not yet free, but taking the first tentative steps toward reclaiming her identity from those who had tried to erase it.
For now, that would have to be enough. Fisher Tiger's escape was postponed for a month away, and the chaos that would follow his raid on Mary Geoise remained in the uncertain future. But when that moment came, Alcaster wanted Koala to be as prepared as possible for the opportunity it might present—not just for physical escape, but for psychological liberation from the conditioning that had imprisoned her mind as thoroughly as any chains had bound her body.
Small victories, as Fisher Tiger had noted. But in a war that sometimes seemed unwinnable, each small victory mattered more than any of them could measure.