"A swordsman who can cut steel is not truly powerful."
Aren did not look back. The sunset stretched his shadow out long, laying it across the cracked stone slab at Zoro's feet.
Hands stuffed in his pockets, his voice drifted on the evening breeze, free of any heavy preaching.
"Real swordsmanship means cutting only what you want to cut, and when you do not want to cut, you should not even slice through a sheet of paper. Learn to listen to the breath of all things, green moss head."
He lifted a hand and waved, then walked toward the dojo gate.
Zoro stood there in a daze. The bamboo sword in his hands suddenly felt as heavy as a thousand swords.
"The breath... of all things...?"
The words were too abstract for him, yet the stone at his feet, split clean as glass, was painfully real.
A shudder unlike anything he had felt before ran up his spine. The image of that boy in his mind changed completely, transforming into a mountain so tall he could not even see the peak.
He stared hard in the direction where Aren had disappeared. The unwillingness in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by a roaring, blazing ambition.
"Zoro..."
A hoarse voice sounded from the covered corridor.
Kuina had somehow returned.
She was still barefoot, the soles of her feet stained with dirt. The eyes that were usually full of pride were now red and swollen.
She had probably heard the sounds of training, turned back to fetch her sword, and walked straight into this scene.
Zoro jerked around, opened his mouth, and found he had no idea what to say.
Kuina's gaze slid past him and landed on the broken slab of stone.
The cross section shone so smooth it caught the last colors of the evening sky. There was no rubble, no chipped fragments, just a line as clean as tofu sliced by a famed blade.
"Was this... Father's doing?" Kuina's voice trembled.
"No."
Zoro drew in a deep breath, tightening his grip on the bamboo sword as if trying to carve Aren's words into his bones.
"It was Aren. With a single... dead twig."
"A twig...?"
Kuina's eyes flew wide. Her first instinct was to snap at him for talking nonsense.
But when she saw the seriousness on Zoro's face, the kind she had never seen there before, then followed his gaze to the broken branch on the ground that still held a trace of green, her strength seemed to drain away.
That outsider she had dismissed as just a crafty opportunist had already climbed to a height so far above her that she could not even see him clearly.
...
Leaving Isshin Dojo, Aren felt as if the air itself had grown fresher.
Night fell early over Shimotsuki Village. The sea breeze rolled past the low houses, carrying the weight of salt and moisture.
"At a time like this, you really do need a drink."
Aren patted the Wado Ichimonji tucked at his side, the corners of his lips curling up on their own.
The wine he had just won from Koushirou was already in his stomach, turned into that faint, mysterious sword intent. Now what he wanted was some ordinary alcohol to wet his throat.
Relying on memory, he cut through two narrow alleys and found the only bar at the edge of the village.
By the time he arrived, though, he hit a closed door.
The heavy wooden door was shut tight. A battered sign that read "Closed" hung from a nail, and no light escaped from the cracks.
Aren's mouth twitched. It was not even that late. Was nightlife in this pirate world really this sad?
He could only lean toward the gap and call out, "Hey, do me a favor, just sell me a flask to take away. I do not need a seat."
There was silence inside for a few seconds, then the shuffling sound of slow, dragging footsteps.
The door opened a narrow slit. A wrinkled hand stretched out, offering him a rough ceramic wine flask and a small oil-paper packet of peanuts.
"Two hundred Beli. Now go, do not keep me from sleeping."
Aren shoved the coins into that hand and took the flask.
This was how small places were. There was no such thing as "the customer is God," only "I want to sleep, so I sleep."
He lifted the wine and stepped back into the thickening night.
The street was deserted, nothing left but the creaking of signs rocking in the wind.
He had just pulled the stopper free, ready to sample this cheap village brew, when his sharpened intuition made his fingers pause around the cork.
At the mouth of the alley ahead, three figures in cloaks walked toward him.
There was no killing intent, no hostility.
Yet under his senses, strengthened by chakra and Observation Haki, the energy waves coming from those three were enormous.
Especially the one in the middle. He moved in plain sight, yet somehow seemed to blend completely into the surrounding airflow. Even the sound of his footsteps was erased by the wind.
Powerhouses of this level were far beyond what a place like Shimotsuki Village should ever see.
Several names flashed through Aren's mind. His gaze flicked toward the massive jawline half exposed beneath the cloak of the person on the left, marked by those iconic long lashes and stone-like chin.
Ivankov?
And that one in the center...
As they passed shoulder to shoulder, a gust of unnaturally strong wind swept down the street. It tossed Aren's bangs into his eyes and lifted the edge of the central figure's cloak.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met in midair.
They were deep, shadowed eyes. A dark red tattoo on the left cheek showed faintly in the gloom.
Monkey D. Dragon.
Leader of the Revolutionary Army, the world's most wanted man.
Aren's heart skipped a beat.
He was just a young drunkard with a taste for alcohol, cradling his newly bought flask. His gaze was flat, sliding over this suspicious group as if they were nothing, all his attention apparently fixed on the wine in his hands.
Dragon's stride slowed the tiniest fraction.
He smelled something on this boy, something very faint yet incredibly sharp.
It was the trace of someone who had just touched a profound realm and had not yet fully hidden the ripples it caused.
More importantly, here in this remote East Blue village, facing a group of cloaked strangers, this child was far too calm, so calm that he did not seem like a child at all.
Surprise flickered in Dragon's eyes and vanished again. His expression smoothed out, and he kept walking.
Only when they had gone dozens of meters and turned the corner did Aren finally let out a long breath, cold sweat beading across his back.
"So that is Dragon's presence..."
He glanced down the dark street where they had vanished.
"Just the feeling from passing by him is almost on par with that Sea King."