Five years after he left Windmill Village, Ren D. Vale had learned one simple truth.
The world didn't get kinder.
The town was already burning when he arrived.
Smoke curled into the sky in thick spirals, carrying the smell of salt, fire, and fear. Marines crowded the docks, boots pounding against the planks as they barked orders that sounded more like excuses than justice. Civilians were forced into the square, heads lowered, hands bound, fear written plainly across their faces.
Ren watched from the edge of a rooftop, coat worn thin by travel, sword scarred by use.
Five years at sea had carved the softness out of him. What remained was lean, controlled, and very hard to stop.
A Marine captain paced before the crowd, his voice sharp and rehearsed. "By order of the World Government, this town is being seized for harboring criminals!"
A woman cried out. A child clung to her leg.
Ren exhaled slowly.
He moved.
The first Marine never saw him coming.
Steel flashed once. A rifle split cleanly in half, clattering uselessly to the ground. Ren stepped forward without breaking stride, weaving through the formation as if he'd memorized it already. Blades missed by inches. Bullets tore fabric but failed to slow him.
Pain followed.
He accepted it.
The captain drew his saber with a shout, charging in panic more than skill. Ren met him halfway. Their blades clashed once—just once—before the captain was sent skidding backward across the stone.
"Who are you?!" the man demanded, voice cracking.
Ren regarded him calmly.
"Someone who kept moving."
The fight ended moments later.
When the last Marine fled toward the docks, shouting frantic reports into Den Den Mushi receivers, Ren stood alone in the square. Blood dripped from his sleeve. The townspeople stared at him in stunned silence.
He sheathed his sword.
"Get somewhere safe," he said.
Then he left, as he always did.
Far out at sea, aboard a Marine vessel rocking gently with the waves, a Den Den Mushi rang.
"Yes?" an officer answered.
The voice on the other end was tight. "We've confirmed it again. The swordsman interfered."
A pause.
"…Name?"
Another pause, heavier.
"Ren D. Vale."
Silence stretched.
"Log it," the officer finally said. "Any man with a D. doesn't stay small forever."
The receiver clicked shut.
Ren sat on the edge of his boat, wrapping fresh bandages around his arm. The log pose beside him ticked softly, its needle steady. Five years of battles, storms, and narrow escapes pressed quietly at the edges of his mind.
The pressure came again—familiar now.
Refinement stabilized.
Ren flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle difference. Cleaner. Sharper.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I felt it."
A damp newspaper lay near the bow, picked up at the last port. Ren unfolded it absentmindedly, eyes drifting over headlines and bounties—
Then he froze.
A familiar grin stared back at him beneath a straw hat.
STRAW HAT LUFFY DECLARES WAR ON THE WORLD
Ren stared at the page for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
Deep. Unrestrained. Full of something that felt dangerously close to pride.
"So you finally did it," he said to the open sea. "Guess I wasn't the only one growing."
He folded the paper carefully and adjusted the sail. The wind answered immediately, pulling the boat forward. The log pose needle twitched—just slightly—then settled.
The distance between them felt smaller now.
End of Chapter Three
The sun dipped low, painting the sea in gold and red. Ren stood at the bow of his boat, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Five years ago, he had left as a boy who knew he couldn't stay.
Now, the world knew his name.
And somewhere ahead, a captain was laughing at the same storm.
Author's Note:
Yes — there has been a time skip. Ren has spent years at sea growing, surviving, and earning his name. From here on, events will move even faster toward canon and his reunion with Luffy. If you're enjoying the story and want daily or more frequent updates, please leave a comment and drop some Power Stones. Your support really helps keep the momentum going!