The sea was quiet that morning.
A pale mist rolled across the water, swallowing the horizon. The small wooden boat drifted gently between the waves, its sail barely catching the wind. Ryo sat near the bow, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as his reflection shimmered in the water.
It had been three days since Shells Town. Three days since the fight with Gorren.
The villagers' gratitude still echoed faintly in his memory — their smiles, their cheers, the boy calling him a hero.And yet, Ryo didn't feel like one.
His right hand still ached from the clash, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gorren's face — that flash of fear when the man realized he'd lost. Ryo hadn't killed him. He didn't need to. But the temptation had been there for a moment, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.
He leaned back, watching the clouds. "If a blade decides who lives and who dies," he muttered, "then a swordsman's heart decides how far he'll fall."
The sea wind answered with silence.
He smiled faintly. "You'd probably laugh at me for that, old man."
The memory of his teacher's gruff voice drifted through his mind.'A sword has no conscience, boy. That's your job.'
He adjusted the sail and glanced toward the distant shape on the horizon — an island, faint but growing clearer by the minute. His supplies were running low, and his water barrel nearly empty. He didn't have much choice.
"Guess fate picked the next stop."
The island's name was Torin Isle — a modest trade port, big enough to matter, small enough to stay ignored by the Marines.
As Ryo stepped off the dock, the first thing he noticed was the air — thick with tension. People spoke in hushed tones. Merchants packed up early. A few children peeked from windows but didn't dare come out.
Then came the whispers.
"They say he's still here…""He killed five men this week alone.""Bounty hunter, right? Calls himself Kaze Roran."
Ryo's brow furrowed. A bounty hunter?
He followed the murmurs through the narrow market streets until he found a small square near the center of town. The crowd was already forming. In the middle stood a man kneeling, hands tied, face bloodied.
And standing over him — a swordsman.
Tall, lean, long hair tied in a loose knot. His coat fluttered in the breeze, and the blade in his hand gleamed with cruel precision.
Kaze Roran.
His eyes were calm, but cold — the kind of eyes that didn't see people, just weights on a scale.
The kneeling man trembled. "P-please! I didn't steal that shipment, I swear!"
Roran tilted his head. "You lied to a nobleman. Your bounty says otherwise."
He raised his sword.
The man screamed.
Ryo's body moved before he even realized it.
Clang!
Steel met steel — Ryo's sword catching Roran's blade an inch before it struck the man's neck. Sparks scattered into the air.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Roran looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "...You're interfering."
Ryo held his ground, his expression unreadable. "You're about to kill a man without trial."
"He's a criminal."
"Or a victim." Ryo's voice was calm but sharp. "You swing your sword like justice belongs to you."
Roran studied him — a faint smile touching his lips. "And you're the type who thinks mercy saves everyone."
He stepped back slightly, lowering his blade. "Tell me, stranger. Do you know what happens when you spare evil men?"
"I don't care for lectures," Ryo said flatly. "Put the sword down."
A faint wind brushed between them, kicking dust into the air.
Roran's smile faded. "You draw a blade against me, and you die for a liar."
Ryo slid into stance, feet light, body balanced. "Then let's see whose sword speaks the truth."
The air split with motion.
Roran moved first — a blur of speed and precision. His cut came in from the side, smooth and surgical. Ryo parried, feeling the weight behind it — strong but refined, no wasted energy.
Their blades collided again and again, a storm of sparks bursting with every clash. The crowd retreated in terror as the two men danced through the square.
Ryo pivoted low, countering with Flowing Edge. Roran barely tilted his blade, redirecting it harmlessly. "Impressive. You trained well."
Ryo grunted. "Save your compliments."
He leapt back, spinning in a half arc, his blade cutting the air like wind slicing the sea. Roran blocked, twisting with frightening grace. The pressure of their strikes cracked the stones beneath their feet.
Roran's swordsmanship was elegant — almost too elegant. Every move was measured, precise, merciless. Ryo could tell he'd killed many men with those hands.
And yet, Ryo could also feel something hollow in them — a lack of conviction.
"You fight with skill," Ryo said, sliding his sword behind his shoulder. "But no heart."
Roran chuckled, eyes glinting. "Heart? I left mine behind years ago. Hearts hesitate."
He lunged.
The blow came fast — too fast. Ryo barely brought his sword up in time, the impact sending shockwaves through his arm. His grip faltered.
Roran seized the opening and slammed his hilt into Ryo's chest. The breath left his lungs.
"See?" Roran said coolly. "Emotion is weakness."
Ryo stumbled back, gasping, his vision spinning. He dropped to one knee — but his mind didn't panic. He could hear his old mentor again.
'Pain isn't your enemy. Panic is.'
He exhaled sharply, grounding his stance. His fingers tightened on the hilt.
When Roran's next strike came, Ryo didn't block — he stepped into it.
Their swords grazed. The world slowed.
Ryo's blade curved upward, slicing clean through Roran's sleeve. The bounty hunter twisted away just in time, blood dripping from a shallow cut on his arm.
Roran's eyes widened for the first time. "You… advanced on the strike?"
Ryo stood tall again, breath steady. "You mistake restraint for weakness."
Roran smirked. "And you mistake mercy for strength."
They clashed again.
This time, Ryo's movements flowed smoother — no hesitation, no pause. He used his whole body, guiding each swing like water around stone.
Roran's precision began to falter. He was strong, but Ryo's adaptability broke his rhythm.
With one last fluid motion, Ryo disarmed him — the bounty hunter's sword spinning into the dirt.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Roran froze, staring at the blade now resting at his throat.
"Kill me," he said quietly. "That's what swordsmen do."
Ryo's eyes met his. "No. That's what killers do."
He lowered his weapon. "You hunt men for money. I fight for balance. There's a difference."
Roran's jaw tightened. For a long moment, neither moved.
Finally, Roran stepped back and retrieved his sword, sheathing it slowly. "You're dangerous," he said softly. "Because you believe in something."
Ryo gave a small shrug. "Someone has to."
Roran turned to leave but stopped midway. "Your name?"
"Ryo Tenshin."
Roran smiled faintly. "We'll meet again, Ryo Tenshin."
Then he vanished into the mist.
The townspeople emerged from hiding one by one, disbelief and awe written across their faces. The man Ryo saved fell to his knees, weeping in relief.
Ryo said nothing. He simply sheathed his sword and began walking toward the harbor again.
"Wait!" the man called after him. "Why did you save me?"
Ryo paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Because someone needed to."
The man's voice cracked. "You don't even know me!"
Ryo gave a faint smile. "I don't need to."
And with that, he walked away.
That night, Ryo sat at the edge of the docks again, his reflection rippling under the moonlight. His sword lay beside him, blade faintly glinting like starlight on water.
He traced the hilt with his thumb, thinking about Roran's words. Mercy is weakness.
Maybe, to some men, it was. But Ryo knew better.
He'd seen what mercy could do — how one act could ripple through a town, how it could spark hope in eyes that had forgotten what peace looked like.
He wasn't naive. He knew there were monsters in this world — men who thrived on cruelty, chaos, and power. Those men didn't deserve mercy. But everyone else? They deserved a chance to keep their story going.
Ryo stood, sheathing his blade once more.
He looked out at the endless stretch of sea. Somewhere beyond it lay the Grand Line — the road every great swordsman eventually had to face.
"Roran," he murmured to the wind, "next time, I'll be even stronger."
The waves rolled gently beneath him, whispering their eternal rhythm.
Ryo smiled faintly. "The world's a cruel place," he said quietly. "But maybe that's why I'm still walking it."
He stepped aboard a new boat, pushed off from the pier, and drifted toward the horizon once more — a lone swordsman chasing his path beneath the stars.
The night swallowed him whole.
But the glint of his blade — that remained.
A promise.A challenge.A dream still sharp enough to cut the sea itself.