Optimistic-or perhaps simply thick-skinned-Uta actually relaxed after discovering that her Devil Fruit power was completely useless against the white-haired man before her.
It was a strange feeling.
It was neither "surrender" nor "resignation." It was like someone desperately holding up an umbrella in a storm, only for the wind to turn it inside out, leaving her clothes soaked and her hair plastered to her face-then suddenly throwing the umbrella away, standing in the rain, and discovering that getting drenched was not actually so frightening.
I can't beat him anyway.
I can't stop him anyway.
If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it already.
Uta walked about a meter ahead of Boer, her steps light and casual.
Her white sandals made soft scraping sounds against the gravel path.
The sea breeze lifted the hem of her dress, revealing her slender calves. A thin red cord was tied around her ankle, with a tiny silver bell hanging from it that gave a clear jingle with each step.
Every so often, she turned her head and stole a glance at the man behind her.
His silvery-white hair shone in the setting sun, his azure eyes were like jewels, and the faintest hint of a smile lingered at his lips.
A thought popped into Uta's mind.
This guy is pretty good-looking.
She quickly pushed the thought down, like pressing down a bubble rising to the surface. Then it rose again, and she pushed it down again. It rose again.
Forget it. I'm not pushing it down anymore. Handsome is handsome. What's wrong with admitting it?
She sneaked another glance.
He seems pretty gentle, too.
She recalled that moment earlier-Boer merging into her body, her consciousness being squeezed into a corner, like a homeowner temporarily asked to leave her own room.
It