The scenes on the sky screen shifted rapidly.
The port of Windmill Village appeared, showing how it looked ten years ago.
A pirate ship was docked at the pier, a skull painted on its sail, and a red flag snapping in the sea breeze.
A red-haired man jumped down from the ship, holding a wine bottle in his left hand and resting his right hand on the saber at his waist.
Both of his arms were intact.
“The Red Hair Pirates,” Austin’s narration cut in, his tone much more restrained than before, but with a layer of excitement beneath it.
“Luffy didn’t set out on the path of a pirate because of his grandfather Garp, or because of his father Dragon.” “It was because of this man.” A line of text appeared on the sky screen: Four Emperors Red Hair Shanks.
“At that time, Shanks wasn’t one of the Four Emperors yet, but he was already a famous pirate in the New World.
His strength?
He fought Dracule Mihawk to a draw in a duel.” “A figure like that stayed in a small fishing village in the East Blue for nearly a year.” The screen showed a tavern.
It was Makino’s tavern.
Shanks sat at the bar, pouring drink after drink, while a snot-nosed brat squatted beside him, cutting his own face with a knife.
“To prove he was tough enough to be a pirate, Luffy slashed his own face in front of Shanks.
That’s where that scar came from.” In the video footage, the members of the Red Hair Pirates were surprised, but they also felt a bit of pity for the little guy.
At the Windmill Village pier, Luffy touched the scar under his left eye.
“Shanks!” he shouted, staring at that familiar Red Hair on the sky screen and smiling.
The scenes on the sky screen moved forward.
Austin’s narration inserted a bit of background here.
“When talking about the bond between Luffy and Shanks, there’s a key detail that can’t be skipped.” “Where did Luffy’s fruit come from?
He didn’t find it himself, and it wasn’t a gift.” “He stole it and ate it.” The interior of Makino’s tavern appeared on the sky screen.
The air was filled with the smell of alcohol and the smoke from roasted meat.
The Red Hair Pirates were drinking and playing games, making as much noise as a busy morning market.
A wooden box sat in the corner of the bar, its lid not fully closed, revealing a purple fruit inside.
It had spiral patterns and an eerie color; it didn’t look like something normal to eat.
Seven-year-old Luffy squatted in front of the bar, angry because Red Hair had refused to let him become a pirate.
His eyes circled the fruit three times.
He reached out his small hand, grabbed it, and stuffed it into his mouth.
He swallowed it whole.
After Red Hair discovered this, he grabbed Luffy’s feet and held him upside down: “Spit it out!!
That’s a Devil Fruit!!
The Gum-Gum Fruit worth 100,000,000 Belly!!
Once you eat it, you’ll never be able to swim again!!” At the Windmill Village pier, Luffy watched his seven-year-old self on the screen being shaken upside down and chuckled.
“I almost forgot how bad it tasted back then.” He pulled his cheek; the rubbery skin stretched out quite long before snapping back with a loud pop.
“But it’s actually quite useful.” On the sky screen, Austin’s narration was laughing uncontrollably.
“So you all see now.
Luffy’s Gum-Gum Fruit wasn’t some chosen destiny or a miracle from the heavens.
It was just a gluttonous kid who chewed up someone else’s Devil Fruit out of spite.” “And thus, a generation’s Rubber Man was born.” “The price is never being able to swim for the rest of his life.
For someone who wants to be the Pirate King, that side effect is quite deadly.” A line of text popped up on the sky screen: [System Notification: Luffy’s process of choosing a Devil Fruit: There was no choice, it was pure gluttony.] The footage on the sky screen continued to advance.
After the farce of stealing the fruit passed, the real highlight arrived.
Mountain Bandits caused trouble and mocked the pirates; little Luffy, standing up for Red Hair, was kidnapped by the bandits and thrown into the sea.
Seven-year-old Luffy soaked in the seawater, unable to use his limbs.
The Gum-Gum Fruit turned him into a lead weight the moment he touched seawater; his limbs went weak, and he lost even the strength to struggle.
Seawater poured into his mouth.
He coughed and choked, his eyes turning red from the stinging salt water.
The shadow of a Sea King rose from below.
Its teeth snapped down.
Then Shanks appeared.
The footage slowed down here.
The red-haired man rushed through the spray, one hand grabbing Luffy, the other hand…
Was gone.
Blood gushed from the severed arm, staining the surrounding seawater a dark red.
The Sea King still had that arm in its mouth.
Shanks held Luffy, facing the Sea King.
It was just a look.
The Sea King fled.
It turned and ran.
An ordinary sea beast of the coastal waters turned and ran under that gaze.
“To save a seven-year-old brat,” Austin’s voice paused for a moment, “a man of the Four Emperors level lost an arm.” The sky screen froze on that image: Shanks holding Luffy with one arm, seawater reaching his chest, the blood from the severed arm soaking through his white shirt.
He lowered his head and said one thing to the child who was crying hysterically.
“I bet it on the New Era.” This line was spliced in by Austin from elsewhere.
The entire ocean fell silent.
This silence was different from before.
Whitebeard’s death was shocking, Ace’s death was suffocating, and Garp’s crying was heavy.
This time, it was confusion.
Pure, heartfelt confusion.
An arm.
In exchange for a seven-year-old brat’s life.
Was it worth it?
…
Somewhere in the New World.
It was so quiet on the Red Hair Pirates’ ship that you could hear a pin drop.
The meat in Lucky Roux’s mouth fell out, bouncing twice on the deck.
Yasopp took off his hat and rubbed it for a long time.
Limejuice leaned against the mast, his eyes reddening as he turned his face away.
They were all there.
Ten years ago that day, they were all on the ship.
They watched their Captain come up from the sea, holding that tear-stained brat in his left arm, while his left side was empty.
From that day on, their Captain never picked up dual swords again.
Benn Beckman had a cigarette in his mouth; a long piece of ash fell without him even flicking it.
He turned to look at Shanks.
Shanks leaned against the railing at the bow, his empty sleeve fluttering in the sea breeze.
He looked at his ten-year-old self on the sky screen, his expression very calm.
“Captain,” Beckman spoke.
“Yeah?” “Do you regret it?” Beckman had held this question in for ten years.
He had never asked it.
Today, watching the entire world stare at that severed arm, he asked.
Shanks didn’t look back.
“Have you seen that kid’s smile?” Beckman didn’t respond.
“That smile is exactly like his,” Shanks said.
He didn’t say who “he” was.
But Beckman knew.
Everyone on the ship knew.
The man who had already died on the execution platform.
Gol D.
Roger.
“An arm in exchange for an era.” Shanks patted the railing and smiled.
“A bargain.” …
Kuraigana Island, Grand Line.
Hawkeye Mihawk sat on the stone chair at the highest point of the castle, the black blade Yoru resting across his knees.
He watched the scene of Shanks’ severed arm on the sky screen, expressionless, for a long time.
Then he stood up.
The stone chair made a harsh scraping sound behind him.
“Losing your dominant arm for a brat.” Hawkeye’s voice was soft, echoing in the empty castle hall.
He had fought Shanks countless times.
Every time was a perfectly matched duel, every time making his blood boil.
That was the only opponent he recognized on this sea.
And then that opponent cut off his own arm.
Since then, Hawkeye had never proactively sought out Shanks.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight.
It was that it was meaningless.
A one-armed swordsman, even if his strength didn’t decrease, that feeling of being evenly matched would never return.
“Shanks.” Hawkeye gripped the Black Blade, his voice cold and devoid of warmth.
“You owe me an explanation.
I hope this ‘New Era’ you care so much about can bring me some surprises.” He didn’t say what kind of explanation.
But everyone seeing this scene understood the meaning.
You ruined the best duel on this sea.
For the sake of a green boy.
…
Marineford.
Akainu stood on the steps, his gaze darkening.
“One of the Four Emperors losing an arm for a kid.
The grandson of the Marines Hero.
The son of the Revolutionary Army’s leader.” He connected these layers of relationships in his mind.
“This Straw Hat kid has been at the center of the storm since the day he was born.” Kizaru leaned over: “Well~ speaking of which, that kid is indeed not simple~ Before even setting out to sea, he already had a future member of the Four Emperors bet an arm on him~” Akainu didn’t respond to him.
Sengoku stood behind the window, clutching a Den Den Mushi.
He was waiting for orders from the Gorosei.
But only one image kept turning over in his mind.
Shanks standing in the seawater, blood dripping from his severed arm, smiling at a seven-year-old child.
There was no pain in that smile, no regret.
There was only one thing.
Sengoku had been a Marine for half his life and had seen countless people make sacrifices.
Soldiers dying for a mission, generals dying for the big picture; those were all purposeful, calculable costs.
But Shanks’ arm wasn’t a cost.
It wasn’t a trade.
It wasn’t a calculation.
It was the action of a gambler pushing all his chips onto the table.
Betting on what?
Betting that a seven-year-old brat could carry the weight of an entire era.
“Madness,” Sengoku whispered a single word.
But a place deep in his heart was burning.
That place held something he had almost forgotten.
The reason he had chosen to put on this white uniform when he was young.
…
Past timeline.
Tavern.
Roger raised his glass to his lips but didn’t drink.
He watched the scene of Shanks’ severed arm on the sky screen.
He watched for a long time.
Rayleigh waited beside him, not rushing him.
“That kid.” Roger finally spoke.
His voice was different from usual; there was no loud laughter, no slapping the table.
Just three simple words.
“Well done.” He drained his drink in one gulp.
The glass slammed heavily onto the table.
“Rayleigh, that Straw Hat of mine wasn’t given to him in vain.”