The Baratie rocked gently on the endless sea, its fish-shaped hull a stubborn beacon of warmth against the cold blue expanse. Inside, the restaurant hummed with life—clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and the sizzle of pans from the kitchen. Waiters weaved through the chaos, balancing trays of steaming seafood risotto and dodging rowdy sailors with practiced ease. It was a place where hunger met haven, where the ocean's vastness gave way to the promise of a full belly and a good brawl.
At a creaky wooden table near the center, the Straw Hat Pirates were in their element. Monkey D. Luffy, straw hat tilted back, teetered on his chair, eyes gleaming with the promise of meat. "Oiiii, where's the fooood?!" he wailed, arms flopping like rubber. Roronoa Zoro slouched beside him, three swords at his hip, grumbling under his breath. "Too damn loud in here." Nami, sharp as ever, flipped through a menu, her mind already calculating how to dodge the bill. Usopp, meanwhile, regaled a skeptical waiter with a tale of how he'd "wrestled a sea king into submission with nothing but a slingshot and my unbreakable will!"
In a shadowed corner, far from the noise, a lone figure sat at a small table by a porthole. Daytime Silas sipped black coffee, the bitter steam curling like a ghost in the dim light. His deep crimson hair cascaded in waves, catching the light like molten rubies—untamed yet somehow perfectly styled, a signature that drew eyes like moths to a flame. His sharp, mischievous eyes held a calming charm, but lingered too long, they made hearts race and palms sweat. A loose white pirate shirt hung open just enough to reveal a glimpse of his chest, adorned with layered necklaces, rings, and leather bands that hinted at a life danced on the edge of danger and pleasure. Faint tattoos peeked from his collarbone and neck—tribal, symbolic, a silent story he never told in the light. Earrings and trinkets from distant islands or past lovers glinted softly, each one a fragment of a life lived too fast. His aura wasn't forced; it simply was—seductive, with a lazy smirk and a bored drawl that made the world feel like it was flirting back.
The room noticed him before he moved. Waiters stole glances, diners paused mid-bite, and even the rowdiest sailors lowered their voices when his gaze swept past. Nami's eyes flicked to him first, her merchant's mind caught by the glint of his jewelry and the confidence in his slouch. Expensive taste… but no show-off. Who is he? Usopp, mid-story, faltered when he caught Silas's smirk, his voice cracking. "I-I mean, uh, maybe it was a small sea king…" He leaned toward Nami, whispering, "That guy's trouble. Look at him! He's got 'dangerous heartbreaker' written all over him!"
Silas's gaze drifted to the Straw Hats, settling briefly on Nami. Her sharp eyes, her subtle tension, the way she scanned the room like a hawk—they reminded him of someone. Clever. Dangerous. He filed the thought away and returned to his coffee. Bitter as memory, sharp as truth.
A memory stirred unbidden. A woman's voice, warm and certain, from a time when the world still seemed soft. "One day, when the sky opens and the chains break, someone will stand tall for everyone else." His mother, her eyes bright with belief, had spoken of the Warrior of Liberation—a figure of myth, a soul of unbreakable will who'd shatter tyrants and free the world. As a boy, Silas had hung on her every word, his heart swelling with a dream too big for his small frame.
"What would I be, Mama, if that warrior were real?"
She'd laughed, ruffling his red hair. "Why, you'd be his blade and his gun. You'd clear his path, protect him before he ever needed to fight."
He'd grinned, clutching a stick like a sword. "Then that's my dream! I'll be the blade and gun of the Warrior of Liberation!"
The memory stung. His mother was gone. The world had shown its true face—corrupt, brutal, chained. Silas had buried that dream deep, telling himself he no longer believed. He drifted now, fighting for no one, trusting no one. His sabre—propped against the table, gleaming with deadly precision—and his flintlock pistol, its grip smoothed by years of quiet violence, were his only constants.
The Baratie's doors slammed open.
"FOOD! NOW!" A hulking pirate stormed in, his crew of five trailing behind, each one uglier than the last. Don Krieg's men, their gaudy tattoos and sneering confidence marking them as trouble. The leader, a brute with a jagged scar across his jaw, swung his cutlass at a trembling waiter. "You deaf? Feed us, or this place sinks!"
The restaurant froze. Diners ducked under tables. Waiters backed away. Luffy's grin widened, his chair slamming forward with a thunk. "Heh! Looks fun!" Zoro's hand drifted to his swords, a glint in his eye. Nami sighed, muttering, "Great. More idiots." Usopp squeaked, diving behind a chair with a cry of "I'm too young to die!"
But Silas moved first.
No shout. No flourish. Just the soft scrape of his chair and the clink of his coffee cup on the table. His crimson hair swayed as he crossed the room in three strides, his boots silent on the wooden floor. The pirates didn't see him until his pistol was in hand, the glint of his earrings catching the light like a warning.
Bang. A shot cracked through the air, precise and sharp. The leader's cutlass spun from his grip, clattering across the floor. Bang. The second pirate clutched a bleeding hand, his pistol dropping. Bang. The third collapsed, his knee shattered. The fourth lunged, sword raised—only for Silas's sabre to flash in a single, fluid arc, sending the blade flying and the man sprawling.
Four men down in four seconds. Silas holstered his pistol, sheathed his sabre, and walked back to his table, his necklaces clinking softly. The restaurant was silent, every eye on the red-haired stranger who'd moved like a phantom and struck like a storm. A waitress blushed furiously, nearly dropping her tray. A sailor muttered, "Who's that guy?" Nami's eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching as if calculating the value of his trinkets—and the danger of the man wearing them. Usopp peeked over his chair, whispering to Nami, "Told you! He's gonna steal our souls with that smirk!"
Then Luffy exploded.
"THAT WAS SO COOL!" He vaulted over the table, landing in front of Silas with a grin brighter than the sun. "Oi, you! Join my crew! Be my nakama!"
Silas froze, his hand tightening on his coffee mug. Those eyes—wide, fearless, untouched by greed or doubt. That smile—raw, unearned, just there. His mother's voice echoed in his mind, unbidden. "You'd protect him before he ever needed to fight."
His heart twitched, a flicker of something he'd buried long ago. Not faith. Not hope. Just… a spark. His crimson hair fell over one eye as he tilted his head, his smirk fading into something unreadable.
"No," Silas said, his voice a bored drawl that somehow carried weight. He sipped his coffee, forcing his gaze away from Luffy's relentless grin.
The room burst into chaos. Usopp choked, "HE SAID NO?!" Nami snorted, hiding a smirk behind her hand, though her eyes lingered on Silas's tattoos, wondering what stories they hid. Zoro raised an eyebrow, his fingers drumming on his sword hilt. No Haki. No Devil Fruit. Just skill. He wasn't sure if he respected the guy or wanted to test him.
Luffy, undeterred, leaned closer, his nose inches from Silas's face. "C'mon, that gun-and-sword thing was awesome! Join us!"
"No," Silas repeated, his tone unchanging. He stirred his coffee, the spoon clinking softly, his rings catching the light.
The kitchen doors swung open, and Sanji stormed out, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Oi, what's with the racket? You morons trying to trash my restaurant?" His eyes flicked to the groaning pirates, then to Silas, whose crimson hair and easy confidence made even Sanji pause. "...Huh. Nice work, Red. But don't think that makes you cooler than me."
Nami's gaze lingered on Silas, her merchant's mind turning. Fast. Precise. No hesitation. And that look… She tucked the thought away, already wondering what kind of man could move like that and ask for nothing in return. Zoro watched him too, his instincts prickling. He's dangerous. But why's he alone?
Luffy plopped into the chair across from Silas, undaunted. "Okay, fine, you don't wanna join today. I'll ask again tomorrow!" His grin was a force of nature, relentless as the tide.
Silas's expression didn't shift, but his eyes betrayed him—a flicker of irritation, or maybe something softer. "Do what you want," he muttered, setting his cup down, his necklaces swaying slightly. "Just don't expect a different answer."
The Straw Hats returned to their table, Luffy chattering about "Gunblade Guy" while Sanji served plates piled high with food. The restaurant buzzed back to life, but Silas felt the weight of their gazes—Nami's curiosity, Zoro's suspicion, Usopp's nervous awe, Luffy's unshakable enthusiasm. He didn't care for fame or friendship. He'd drifted too long, fought too many battles, to believe in either.
But as he watched Luffy laugh, his crew bickering and shoving food in their faces, that buried spark flickered again. Is he… the one? The thought came unbidden, and Silas crushed it down, draining his coffee in one bitter gulp. He didn't believe in myths anymore. He didn't believe in freedom.
And yet, as Luffy's voice rang out—"Tomorrow, you're joining, Gunblade Guy!"—Silas couldn't shake the feeling that this strange, chaotic crew might just drag him back to the dream he'd left behind.
The sea was vast, and the Baratie was just a stop. Silas's sabre and pistol would carve his path, as they always had. But for the first time in years, he wondered if that path might lead somewhere he hadn't planned.