"Uh… well, I've gotta hand it to you—your Observation Haki really is sharp. You read people scarily well."
Shiro rubbed the bridge of his nose, glancing toward Moria, who was sitting not far away devouring a giant slab of roasted meat. Grease dripped down Moria's face as he chewed, but his darting eyes made it clear his mind wasn't on eating at all.
At that moment, Moria was deep in scheming.
"This guy's crazy strong. If he kicks the bucket someday… and I turn him into a zombie…
Wouldn't my Shadow Army instantly skyrocket in power?
Forget pirates—even Navy Headquarters would have to fear me!"
Unfortunately for him, the entire dark train of thought was picked up word-for-word by Patrick Redfield's extraordinary Observation Haki.
So when the feast finally wrapped up and the crew was still gathering plates, Redfield marched straight toward Moria.
Before Moria could blink, Redfield's fist crashed into him.
Punch after punch, kick after kick—each blow heavy and merciless.
Thuds and Moria's shrieks mingled like a tragic duet.
"H-Hey! I didn't even do anything! Why're you beating me out of nowhere!?"
Moria curled on the ground, arms covering his head, tears almost leaking out. He had no idea how the man found out what he'd only thought.
"'Didn't do anything'? You dared think about turning me into a zombie! Not a chance!"
Redfield continued "educating him through overwhelming strength," each strike charged with very real anger.
Within minutes, Moria was swollen like a balloon—puffy lips, dark bruises everywhere, barely able to stand.
He lay spread on the deck, voice trembling:
"I-I was wrong! I won't think stuff like that ever again! Just spare me!!"
From the railing, Shiro watched with arms crossed, mildly amused, unable to hide his grin.
"Moria really does have a face that asks to be punched. Doesn't matter who joins us, someone always beats him up at least once. I should probably warn him to stop thinking crazy stuff in his head…"
The month that followed passed with surprising warmth.
Everyone aboard the Virtue opened their hearts to Patrick Redfield—no one held his initial coldness against him.
Issho frequently invited him to spar. The two exchanged blows on deck, blade trails weaving like wind—gradually developing mutual respect.
Brook often played music for him during breaks—not just Bink's Sake, but original pieces too. The soothing melodies quietly eased Redfield's long-hardened nerves.
Jinbe remained cheerfully talkative, sharing stories of Fish-Man Island or unusual encounters from the sea.
Hachi unleashed his comedic side daily, dragging Redfield into simple games or playful antics.
Zeff personally prepared a special dish for Redfield every day—delicious meals with subtle strengthening properties that amazed even him.
Even little Robin constantly clung to Redfield's sleeve, asking him in her softest voice to teach her Observation Haki—after all, his mastery of it was among the strongest in the world.
So when the month ended, Patrick Redfield did not choose to leave.
He still didn't talk much, but the icy expression on his face softened. Sometimes he even joined in on conversations—or nodded gently along to Brook's melodies.
Time passed in a blink.
Two years slipped by, and the calendar turned to Sea Circle Year 1502.
One bright afternoon, Shiro lounged on a deck chair, reading the latest issue of the World Economy News. As he flipped to the front page, his expression froze.
The bold headline read:
"Wano in Turmoil — Former Heir Kozuki Oden Executed by Boiling!"
Shiro frowned, fingers unconsciously tightening around the paper.
On one hand, he had spent a year traveling with Oden during the Roger Pirates era—they had fought side by side, shared sake. Hearing of his death brought undeniable sorrow.
On the other hand… Shiro knew all too well:
With Oden's naïvely good-hearted temperament and tragically low sense of danger, his fate wouldn't have changed much even if he'd survived this incident.
He trusted people too easily.
He could never read the situation.
Someone like that couldn't survive in the tangled hell that was Wano.
Shiro exhaled quietly.
"Even if I had saved him back then, someone else would've fooled him later.
He'd end up in danger again—and drag others with him. The ending wouldn't change.
And in the end, the ones who suffer are the innocent people of Wano."
His eyes swept across the deck.
Issho and Redfield trading sword swings…
Zeff cooking in the galley…
Brook reading with Robin…
And Moria snoring loudly in a shady corner…
Shiro clenched his jaw, stood up abruptly, and marched straight into the helm room.
"Jinbe! Change course immediately! We're heading to Wano—now!"
Jinbe didn't ask a single question. Without hesitation, he spun the ship's wheel, redirecting the Virtue toward Wano.
A few days later, they arrived at the shores of Wano.
The moment they approached the port, Shiro unleashed his Conqueror's Haki—an overwhelming blast that dropped every guard unconscious in seconds.
Jinbe seized the chance to steer the Virtue straight inside.
Meanwhile, deep within the shogun's palace, Orochi lounged with sake in hand, leering at a circle of performing geisha—lust dripping from his twisted expression.
When a retainer rushed in, reporting that an unknown pirate ship had breached the country's borders, Orochi didn't even look up.
"Tell Kaido immediately. He'll wipe out those pirates."
T/N: Merry Christmas!
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