The beach was alive with Stanlee's training again.His fists cracked against a boulder, shattering it into dust. His bare feet left craters in the sand as he sprinted, dragging logs the size of houses.
Gaimon, wedged eternally in his chest, watched from a nearby rock, yawning."Oi, brat, if you keep breaking rocks like that, the island's gonna sink one day."
Stanlee grinned, not slowing. "Then I'll swim us both to the next island."
"Ugh, overconfident monster," Gaimon muttered, before settling back.
But then—A low boom echoed across the water. The sound of sails snapping, the heavy rhythm of oars, and the faint clang of metal carried by the wind.
Stanlee dropped the log instantly, eyes narrowing at the horizon.
A ship cut across the sparkling sea, sails dyed crimson. The flag at its mast was a skull marked with three scars across the left eye.
Gaimon's jaw dropped. "Piratessss:".
The Red-Hair Pirates.
Stanlee's blood thumped in his ears. So soon? At seven years old, he hadn't expected fate to throw them ashore this quickly.
The ship anchored, a gangplank slammed down, and the pirates spilled onto the beach like a flood of noise.
"Finally, solid ground!""Smells like jungle and sweat!""Where's the booze, oi?!"
Then they all froze.
Because there, not twenty paces from them, was Gaimon — a man stuck inside a treasure chest, stubby arms and legs flailing angrily.
"What the hell is that?!""Oi, is it alive?!""PFFFHAHAHA—look, it's a shouting box!"
"Shouting box?! I'm HUMAN, you brats!" Gaimon bellowed, red in the face. "Just… stuck in a chest, that's all!"
The pirates collapsed, rolling in the sand with laughter.
One pointed weakly. "I swear, this island breeds monsters!"
Another jerked a thumb toward Stanlee, standing calmly at Gaimon's side, muscles taut and sweat shining from training. "Look at that brat! Seven years old and he's built like a cannonball!"
"Two freaks in one day, hahahaha!"
Their laughter died down only when one of the taller men stepped forward, cigarette glowing in the dusk. His gaze swept across Stanlee, then settled on Gaimon.
"Name's Benn Beckman," he said coolly. "First mate."
A shorter man with a round frame bounded forward next, grinning wide. "Lucky Roux, at your service! Don't get between me and food."
Another man, lean with wild eyes, flipped a knife in his hand. "Yasopp. Best shot you'll ever meet."
The crew grinned, chuckling among themselves. "And last but not least…"
A shadow fell over the sand as their captain finally appeared. He stepped off the gangplank with an easy stride, red hair catching the firelight, a grin spreading across his face. Even without lifting a finger, his presence silenced the whole beach.
"I'm Shanks," he said simply. "Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates."
The name hung heavy in the air, but Gaimon only squinted."Red hair, one arm, and you laugh like a drunk seagull… so you're the captain, huh?"
The crew burst out laughing again.
Shanks scratched the back of his head sheepishly, grinning. "Well, can't argue with that."
Stanlee held his ground, heart steady but thoughts racing. So this is the man who already gave his arm for a boy… a boy who'll grow to shake the seas. The one who'll carry the will of freedom into the future.
When the laughter died down, Shanks' eyes slid toward Stanlee. "And you, kid? What's your name?"
Stanlee hesitated just long enough to feel the weight of the moment, then said clearly, "Stanlee… D… Gaimon."
There was a beat of silence after the pause on the D. Several pirates raised brows. Beckman's gaze sharpened slightly.
But before anyone could speak, Gaimon barked, "He took my name after I saved him, alright?! Not blood, but heart. Don't twist your faces into knots over it."
The crew burst out laughing again, some slapping their knees. "So that's it! Hahaha! Kid gave himself a D in the middle just for fun?"
Stanlee's lips twitched into a small smirk.
Shanks grinned. "Well, I like the sound of it."
The Bonfire
As the sun dipped below the sea, a bonfire crackled on the beach. Meat roasted on spits, barrels of ale were cracked open, and music spilled into the night. The Red-Hair Pirates knew how to party, and Stanlee found himself dragged into the chaos before he could even think.
"Drink, kid!" someone yelled, shoving a mug of juice into his hand after Lucky Roux slapped away the ale."Eat, kid!" another shouted, handing him a skewer of something charred but delicious."Dance, kid!" Yasopp barked, pulling him toward a circle of stomping feet.
Even Gaimon, stuck in his chest, had a mug propped against the rim and was cackling like he hadn't in years. "This is what life should be, Stanlee! Not you smashing mountains and scaring animals!"
"Training isn't scaring animals, old man," Stanlee shot back with a grin. "It's called building strength."
"Strength, shmrength. Try building a proper drinking tolerance first!" Gaimon raised his mug high, and several pirates cheered in agreement.
The night swirled with laughter, stories, and song. Stanlee found himself listening more than speaking, soaking in tales of islands with snow that never melted, skies filled with fireflies the size of lanterns, and seas that boiled with storms fiercer than any jungle beast.
At one point, Shanks leaned back, staring into the flames, voice quieter than before. "You know… just a few months ago, in another East Blue village, I met a boy. Stubborn, loud, full of fire. Reminded me of myself when I was a brat. He'll make waves someday."
Stanlee's eyes sharpened, though he kept his voice neutral. "A boy?"
Shanks grinned, but said no more, tipping his drink back.
Something in Stanlee's chest stirred — longing. So it's begun already. The story I know… it's already moving forward.
The Challenge
Later, when the fire burned low and the music softened, Stanlee found himself staring at Beckman. The man smoked calmly, eyes scanning the night sky as though reading constellations.
Stanlee walked over, determination burning in his gaze. "Spar with me."
Beckman raised a brow, exhaling smoke. "At your age?"
"You'll see."
The first mate studied him for a moment, then shrugged, standing slowly. "Fine. But don't cry if you regret it."
The pirates formed a loose circle, murmuring. Shanks leaned forward with a grin, clearly entertained.
The duel began.
Stanlee lunged, movements sharp, faster than a boy his age had any right to be. His fists swung like hammers, his feet kicked up sand, his eyes tracked every twitch of Beckman's frame.
And yet — not a single blow landed.
Beckman moved with casual precision, tilting his head, shifting a foot, letting each attack whistle past by a hair. He didn't even lift a hand.
Stanlee's teeth clenched. He's reading me. Before I even move, he knows where I'll strike.
Hours passed. Sweat ran down Stanlee's neck. His fists ached. And still, Beckman evaded every blow like smoke slipping through fingers.
Finally, Stanlee froze mid-punch, chest heaving. "How… how are you doing that?"
Beckman tapped the ash of his cigarette, voice calm. "Haki. Specifically, Observation Haki. It's not magic — it's potential. The will and instinct every human carries, sharpened until it cuts sharper than steel. Most live and die without ever realizing it."
The words sank into Stanlee's bones. His body ached, but his heart pounded faster. So this is the path forward…
Beckman smirked faintly. "You've got raw talent, kid. I could feel it the moment you moved. That pressure you carry — it's not normal. Train it right, and you'll see farther than most men ever dream."
From the edge of the circle, Shanks laughed, voice booming. "Don't spoil the fun too early, Beckman! The kid's only just begun!"
The pirates roared with approval, and Stanlee wiped the sweat from his brow, fire blazing in his eyes.