Alubarna.
Nico Robin moved swiftly along the street corner, the heels of her cowboy boots tapping rapidly against the ground. The brim of her hat was pulled low, covering her nose and most of her face. Faint voices could be heard from the direction of the palace behind her, but she didn't turn back. Instead, her steps quickened, the suffocating frustration in her chest growing heavier.
According to the original plan, once Crocodile had control of the situation, Cobra was supposed to lead her to the Poneglyph. As long as she obtained the clues, all the humiliation and disdain she had endured over the past three years would have been worth it.
But now, everything was ruined. That man named Ryan had descended like a bolt from the blue, ending Crocodile with a single slash of his blade and shattering her long-laid plans. Cobra was now under his protection—forget getting close, she probably couldn't even step foot near the palace gates. The trail to the Poneglyph had been severed just like that.
"Just one step away..." Nico Robin turned a corner, leaning against the mottled earthen wall to catch her breath, muttering under her breath.
From the age of eight, she had been on the run—all for the sake of uncovering the Void Century's history. She had allied with bloodthirsty pirates, deceived hypocritical nobles, and even endured three years of Crocodile's suspicion and control. Just when she had finally gotten close to a reliable lead, she had been thwarted by a man who appeared out of nowhere.
That Ryan... He could kill one of the Seven Warlords without hesitation. With her own abilities, a direct confrontation would be suicide.
Robin straightened up, dusting off her denim jacket.
That man was too dangerous. She had to leave immediately. With Crocodile dead, control of the situation had reverted to the royal family. Staying here would only invite disaster.
But the Poneglyph's clues... Robin glanced toward the palace. Sunlight streamed through the spires of the towers, casting shadows over her ever-guarded eyes. Her lips pressed into a tighter line.
No matter what, this wasn't over. She would find a way.
Just as she was about to turn into another alley, a careless voice suddenly came from behind her: "Leaving already?"
Robin's steps halted abruptly, her entire body tensing as she instinctively whirled around, her gaze sharp beneath the wide brim of her hat.
Ryan stood at the mouth of the alley, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the sheath of his Wind Ripper Blade. His fingers tapped idly against the scabbard, his eyes lazily observing her as if she were nothing more than a stray cat—not the woman who had just witnessed him slay one of the Seven Warlords.
Robin's pupils contracted slightly. She raised a hand, her fingers twitching, but Ryan merely arched an eyebrow.
"Don't waste your effort," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Your abilities won't work on me."
Robin froze. Seeing the absolute confidence in Ryan's expression, she knew he wasn't lying. A man who could cleave through Crocodile's Sandstorm wouldn't be hindered by her tricks.
"What do you want?" Nico Robin slowly lowered her hand, keeping her voice steady, though a faint tension seeped into the last syllable.
Sunlight spilled into the open front of her denim jacket, outlining the sharp lines of her shoulders beneath the indigo tank top. Her jeans hugged her long legs, the cuffs tucked into her boots, giving her an air of cool detachment. Only the strands of black hair clinging to her neck betrayed any hint of disarray.
Ryan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward her, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestones. When he stopped in front of her, his gaze swept over her—from the calm eyes beneath the wide-brimmed hat to the tight line of her lips, finally settling on her clenched fists.
"Nothing much," Ryan finally spoke, his voice lowered. "Just interested in you."
With that, he reached out, slipping his hand into the open front of her jacket. His fingers brushed against her waist, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric, tracing the taut lines of her muscles.
Robin's body stiffened instantly, her skin prickling where he touched. A wave of revulsion surged within her, but she didn't move. Her fists clenched tighter, her teeth sinking into her lower lip until she tasted blood.
She knew resistance would only make things worse.
"What do you really want?" Nico Robin repeated, her hat slipping slightly to reveal the suppressed resentment in her eyes. Her voice trembled imperceptibly, but she didn't retreat a single step.
Ryan paused, then withdrew his hand. Instead of answering, he pulled a cigar from his pocket, biting down on it as he lit it. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke between them, the acrid scent filling the air.
"Nothing much," Ryan finally said, his tone languid. "Just offering you a deal."
Robin's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. "What kind of deal?"
"You're looking for Alabasta's hidden Poneglyph, aren't you?" Ryan blew out a smoke ring, his gaze lingering on Robin's faintly trembling lashes. "I can take you to it."
Robin's pupils dilated sharply, her eyes locking onto Ryan. Her lips parted—she wanted to ask, "How do you know?"—but what came out instead was a more urgent question: "You know where it is?"
"Of course. Not only do I know where it is, but I can also ensure you read it undisturbed." Ryan gestured lazily with the cigar. "But nothing in this world is free. The price..."
He trailed off, his eyes roaming over her again—from the open collar of her jacket to the long legs encased in jeans. His gaze was brazen, as if appraising a commodity.
Robin's face flushed—not with embarrassment, but with humiliation.
Her nails dug into her palms, her fingertips icy. But the anger rising in her chest was swiftly crushed by the weight of those two words: Poneglyph.
From the age of eight until now, hadn't she suffered enough? Compared to her obsession with uncovering the Poneglyph, what was a little more indignity?
Nico Robin remained silent for a long time, the only sound the faint crackle of the burning cigar. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze, the resentment in her eyes fading into a still, dead calm. Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet crystal clear:
"...I accept."
Ryan arched an eyebrow, as if surprised by her decisiveness—yet also finding it expected. He chuckled lowly, stubbing out the cigar against the wall. "A wise choice."
Obsession—it drives people mad.
Straightening, he tilted his head toward the alley's exit. "Let's go. While we still have time."
Robin watched Ryan's retreating back before adjusting her hat, pulling the brim low to conceal the redness at the corners of her eyes—and all the turbulent emotions beneath. She followed, her boots tapping against the sunbaked cobblestones, the sound just as rapid as before. But this time, it wasn't the rhythm of a desperate escape.
It was the sound of humiliation, resentment—and the ruthless determination to achieve her goal at any cost.