Across the deceptively gentle blue sea, the rippling waves shimmered like the scales of a slumbering dragon. A small wooden vessel, fragile against the vastness of the ocean, drifted alone.
On its deck sat a young man, hair black as midnight, eyes dark and deep as a moonless night. He lounged with a lazy posture, letting the salty wind whip against his face.
His name was Genshu Noir.
Noir was staring at a half-folded newspaper, the paper already wrinkled from the damp sea air. A thin smile crept across his lips like a crescent moon over a cold horizon. A low chuckle escaped him—rough, almost echoing.
"Kufufu… Gold Roger, Pirate King, master of the seas? This article—so dressed up in embellishment. Their words are like the waves—beautiful, yet never embracing the truth."
He tossed the paper to the deck, reaching for another rolled-up sheet of news. This time, the headline screamed in bold: Marine Hero Garp Triumphs in the God Valley Incident. Noir's eyes glinted as they scanned each line, as if reading secrets never meant for public eyes.
"God Valley… land of gods… a sweet victory for them. But why does it taste like rotting meat served on a golden platter?"
That paper too was cast away, swallowed by the sea. Noir rose slowly, his gaze sharpening on the distant horizon.
"All of this… over treasure. The Marines dance like puppets, yet shy away from speaking the truth. Are they cowards… or merely too clever to be honest? Kufufu…"
The wind carried with it the scent of salt and iron, and among the froth of the waves, his eyes caught something. Far off, a white sail marked with the Marine insignia billowed—a great bird defying the storm.
Noir's smile widened. "Well, well… look at that. Supper's coming to me."
It was a Marine ship, its emblem shining under the midday sun. Noir didn't hesitate. He bent his knees slightly—then launched himself from his small deck like a living cannonball.
On the Marine vessel, startled shouts broke out.
"What is that?!"
"A cannonball?!"
They didn't have time to decide. With speed that tore the air, Noir crashed onto their deck, the impact making the main mast groan and sending several crewmen staggering.
"What happened?!"
"We're under attack! Arm yourselves!"
Yet Noir stood casually in the chaos, arms folded, as though he were a tourist who had simply taken the wrong ship. His eyes roamed over the vessel, searching—hunting. Then he saw them: gaunt figures bound in iron chains, their eyes empty like a moon stripped of its light.
"Kufufu… I was right."
Slaves.
As his gaze traced over them, an unusual figure emerged—a man dressed in immaculate white, his head encased in a glass bubble-like helmet. His steps were slow, arrogant, as if the very ground existed only for him to walk upon.
A Celestial Dragon. Descendant of the so-called "gods" of this world.
Beside him stood a Vice Admiral, broad-shouldered, eyes sharp as a hawk's, hand resting on his sword's hilt, ready to draw at a moment's notice.
Noir tilted his head with a sly smile. "Kufufu… If I say sorry, will you let me leave?"
The Vice Admiral didn't waste breath. In one swift motion, he unsheathed his blade and lunged. The air split around him, and his steps left fine cracks in the wooden planks.
Noir sighed lightly. "I suppose it doesn't matter. A dragon's ship usually has more than enough to eat."
He stepped back, snatching up a pistol from the deck—one dropped by a trembling Marine. In an instant, the weapon spun around his finger before barking sharp bursts of gunfire. Several Marines fell before they could close in.
Gunpowder smoke mingled with the salty air. Seagulls scattered into the sky. And through the screaming crew, Noir's eyes never left the Vice Admiral—like a predator locking onto worthy prey.
Moving with a dark, fluid rhythm, Noir fired and sidestepped, each motion deliberate, each shot a verse in a deadly song.
Then, from across the deck, a high-pitched, grating voice sliced through the chaos.
"What are you doing—eh?! Capture him! Make him my slave! He's top quality!"
The Celestial Dragon's twisted grin dripped arrogance, spittle flying from his mouth. Snot dribbled freely as he cracked a whip against the back of a nearby slave woman—the leather slicing the air before tearing her skin with a burning red welt. She stumbled, but did not cry. Her eyes had been emptied too long for tears.
The Vice Admiral glanced briefly at his "master," then back at Noir. The order was clear—capture or kill. Without hesitation, he blurred from sight. The deck shuddered under his steps, the air screaming with the arc of his blade.
Noir, rather than block, yanked a living shield—a Marine—into the sword's path. The steel bit deep, blood spraying, the scream cut short as the man collapsed like a marionette with its strings severed.
For the first time, Noir's gaze left the Vice Admiral and fixed on the Celestial Dragon. His smile widened—not a warm smile, but that of a predator studying its prey. Beneath it, his eyes were cold steel.
"Kufufu… Trash that can't even live without others. You speak of 'top quality'? Have you ever truly felt pain?" Noir lifted the pistol slowly, the sunlight glinting along its barrel. "If not… allow me to be your first."
His finger squeezed the trigger. A sharp crack split the air. The bullet, a silver streak, tore through the salty wind and buried itself in the Celestial Dragon's shoulder.
"Arghhh—it hurts-ehhh!" he shrieked, his voice shrill and grating. Blood stained the white of his clothes.
He stumbled, trying to hide behind the very slave he'd just whipped, but it was useless—his muscles were soft, his reflexes nonexistent. All his arrogance meant nothing when faced with real pain.
Strangely, the Vice Admiral didn't move to protect him. His eyes merely flickered, his jaw tightening—like a soldier silently agreeing with what had just happened… or simply too tired to care.
Noir noticed. "Kufufu…" The laughter was swallowed by the roar of the waves. With the lightness of a shadow slipping from the world, he stepped back, then vaulted over the ship's railing.
His body cut through the sunlight before the sea swallowed him whole. The waves closed over him, and it was as if he had always belonged to the ocean.
The Vice Admiral stood still, letting the spray of salt water kiss his face. He turned, checking the Celestial Dragon's wound, while the soft sobs of the slaves became the ship's only song. The vessel sailed on, leaving behind a fleeting storm and the mystery of the man who came and vanished like a sudden squall in the endless blue.