By Shiro's estimation, it would still take quite some time before their new ship was seaworthy.
So, for the time being, he, Issho, and Jinbe settled down in the Sabaody Archipelago.
Whenever they had nothing else to do, "Shakky's Rip-Off Bar" became their daily haunt.
The place was filled with the rich aroma of rum and the mouthwatering scent of Hachi's freshly grilled takoyaki.
Shiro always chose the window seat, where he could watch the bubble-cars drift lazily through the air, occasionally clinking glasses with Rayleigh as they swapped sea stories.
Issho, on the other hand, loved the gambling tables—always managing to rope in a few drunk patrons for a few harmless games.
Jinbe simply sat quietly with his drink, offering the occasional comment about the heat of Hachi's takoyaki grill.
Time drifted by in this easy, peaceful rhythm.
Two months later, on a sunny afternoon, Shiro pushed open the wooden doors of the bar with his crew behind him. Just as they were about to sit at their usual spot and Hachi brought out a fresh platter of takoyaki—
The door slammed open again.
A tall young swordsman stood framed in the doorway. Nearly two meters tall, lean and upright, with sharp, hawk-like eyes that seemed to pierce straight through a man's soul.
A long black coat flowed around him, and a massive black cross-shaped sword was strapped to his back, its jeweled hilt gleaming coldly in the light.
His piercing gaze swept across the bar before his clear voice rang out:
"Is Rayleigh here?"
Rayleigh, who had been mid-conversation with Shiro, paused and set his glass down, turning toward the door with a curious glint behind his spectacles.
"Hmm? Another one here for coating, I suppose?" he muttered, standing and walking over with a genial smile.
"If you're here for ship-coating, follow me—I'll have your hull shining like new."
The young swordsman shook his head. His hand rose to his sword, and with a metallic shing, the black blade came free, cold light flashing along its edge.
"I didn't come for coating," he said, raising the point toward Rayleigh. "I came to challenge you."
Shiro froze mid-sip, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in recognition.
That young man was none other than Dracule "Hawk Eyes" Mihawk—the man destined to become the world's greatest swordsman.
(To think I'd meet him this early... and in a bar, no less.)
Even Issho and Jinbe turned their heads, interest gleaming in their eyes.
After all, the man being challenged wasn't just anyone—it was Silvers Rayleigh, the "Dark King," former first mate of the Roger Pirates. For someone to walk in and challenge him so boldly took guts—or madness.
Rayleigh eyed the sword, his friendly smile fading slightly.
"And why," he asked quietly, "do you want to challenge me?"
"For strength," Mihawk replied without hesitation. "To sharpen my swordsmanship—and to become the greatest swordsman in the world."
Rayleigh chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked back to his stool.
"Sorry, kid. I can't accept your challenge."
Mihawk frowned, stepping forward, voice tightening. "Why? Are you afraid to lose?"
"Lose?" Rayleigh's grin returned, laced with calm confidence. "That's unlikely. But I've retired. I'm done with fighting and killing. These days, I just drink and reminisce."
"You…" Mihawk's jaw tightened, but before he could speak again, the drunken regulars in the corner—half-asleep moments ago—began jeering.
"Hey! Old man Rayleigh! Afraid you'll lose to a kid, huh?"
"Haha, don't worry, we won't laugh if you lose!"
"C'mon, show him what you've got, or everyone'll think you're just a cowardly coater!"
Their mocking laughter grated on Shiro's nerves. His eyes hardened.
A wave of invisible pressure burst from him—Conqueror's Haki.
The air itself seemed to ripple. The drunks went silent instantly, collapsing where they stood, unconscious.
Mihawk's eyes widened. His instincts screamed in recognition.
"That Haki…" he breathed. "You're… the swordsman who attacked the execution in Loguetown!"
Shiro rubbed his chin, sighing.
"So I've been recognized, huh? Guess I really was too flashy back then."
Rayleigh's lips curled into a sly grin as he gestured toward Shiro.
"You wanted a challenge, didn't you, boy? Well, I won't fight you. But this man—Shiro—is my disciple. Defeat him, and maybe I'll consider your request."
"Eh?!"
Shiro gawked. "You're throwing me into this, old man?!"
"Fine by me!" Mihawk said, eyes flashing. "That swordsman was already on my list of opponents I wanted to face!"
"Oi, oi, hold on—! I didn't agree to this!" Shiro protested, glaring.
"Captain, fight him!" Jinbe said, grinning as he slapped Shiro's shoulder.
"Show him the might of the Virtue Pirates! Let him know what it means to be 'defeated by virtue'!"
Issho chuckled lightly, swirling the sake in his cup.
"Heh, it's been quiet lately. A duel might liven things up a bit. Let's see how far this young hawk's wings can reach."
Shiro exhaled a long breath, eyes rolling skyward.
"You guys really aren't giving me a choice, huh?"
He stood and stepped forward until he was face to face with Mihawk. The tension between them crackled like electricity.
"I'll accept," Shiro said finally, resting his hand on his sword. "But on one condition."
The air grew still, every gaze fixed on the two swordsmen—one the future "Greatest Swordsman in the World," the other the "Virtuous Blade" who once shook the seas.
The clash between them was about to begin.
T/N: If you would like to read up to 20 chapters ahead for all my works, check out my P@treon: patreon.com/GhidorahWriter
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