The bonfire had burned down to embers. A salty breeze rolled in from the sea, carrying sparks high into the starlit sky. Most of the Red-Hair crew lay sprawled across the sand, some snoring, some still half-singing drunken tunes.
Stanlee, though, couldn't sleep. His fists still tingled from the spar earlier, his mind replaying every miss, every shift Beckman had made to evade him. It wasn't raw speed or strength. It was something deeper — something invisible.
And Stanlee needed to know what it was.
He found Beckman sitting at the edge of the firelight, leaning against a barrel, cigarette glowing like a lone ember.
"You're awake, kid," Beckman said without turning. "Your eyes give it away."
Stanlee stepped forward, shoulders tense. "I need to understand. That… Haki. You said it's potential. What does that mean?"
The first mate exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the night. His eyes narrowed, sharp and patient.
"Haki," Beckman began, "isn't some gift from gods. It's not bloodline, not luck. It's the essence of human will. The instinct to survive, to fight, to push beyond what the body should allow. Every human has it. Most just never awaken it."
Stanlee frowned. "Then why me? Why can you use it, and not… Gaimon, or the animals, or anyone else I've seen?"
From the bonfire, Gaimon's muffled voice cut in: "HEY! Don't drag me into your mystical mumbo-jumbo! I'm perfectly fine without any Haki, thank you!"
The pirates nearby chuckled in their sleep, and Beckman smirked faintly.
"Because, kid," Beckman continued, "potential isn't equal. Some people have sparks. Some have torches. And a rare few… burn like wildfires. You're one of those."
Stanlee's jaw tightened. He remembered the crushing waves that should've killed him, the mountain he shattered during training, the way beasts cowered after his fists found them. Maybe he'd always known there was something different. But hearing it confirmed sent a rush through his veins.
"What kinds of Haki are there?" he asked quickly.
Beckman leaned back, raising two fingers. "Observation. Armament. Both can be trained. Both can be mastered. Then…" He lifted a third finger, his voice quieter, heavier. "…there's Conqueror's. The rarest. The one you don't choose — it chooses you."
Stanlee's heart skipped. He remembered the way Beckman had dodged every attack as if reading the future. He remembered the way Shanks' presence pressed down on everyone without him lifting a sword.
Beckman's gaze pierced him. "Observation Haki lets you feel intent. See the flow of battle before it happens. Armament Haki hardens your spirit into armor, letting your strikes bite deeper, your body resist blows that should shatter bone. Conqueror's…" He paused, smoke drifting from his lips. "Conqueror's is will made flesh. The ability to dominate the wills of others. To lead, or to crush. You don't train into it. You either carry it… or you don't."
Stanlee stayed silent, fists clenched at his sides.
Behind them, Shanks' familiar laugh rang out, light but edged with pride. "Careful, Beckman. Don't scare the boy before he even starts walking."
The pirates stirred at their captain's voice, some chuckling, some raising mugs in half-hearted cheers. Gaimon snorted from his chest. "Scare him? Hah! If this brat gets scared by words, then I'm a mermaid princess."
Stanlee smirked despite himself.
The Next Spar
Beckman stood slowly, stretching his arms, cigarette glowing in the dark. "One lesson's not enough. You learn by doing."
Stanlee's blood surged. He dropped into a stance, eyes locked on Beckman.
The first mate didn't bother readying himself. He just stood, relaxed, as though daring Stanlee to try.
The boy lunged — faster, sharper than before. His fists shot out, but Beckman flowed around them, shifting like water.
Again. Again. Sand sprayed with every strike. Stanlee gritted his teeth, remembering Beckman's words. Feel intent. Don't just swing — sense him.
For a moment, time slowed. He felt the faintest flicker — Beckman's weight shifting before his body moved. Stanlee's fist snapped toward that point.
Beckman's eyes widened a fraction, and for the first time, his cigarette slipped from his lips. He barely twisted away, the punch grazing past.
The crew whistled and whooped. "He almost got Beckman!""Kid's sharp!""Oi, give him a rifle, Yasopp, see if he outshoots you next!"
Gaimon bellowed with laughter. "That's my boy! Show these pirates what chest-raising training does!"
Stanlee panted, sweat dripping. His chest burned, but a grin split his face. I felt it. Just for a second. I saw it.
Beckman retrieved his cigarette, smirking. "Not bad. Observation isn't about eyes, kid. It's about presence. You're starting to get it."
Shanks clapped loudly from the sidelines, grin wide. "At this rate, he'll be dodging bullets before he hits his teens."
"Don't give him ideas!" Yasopp shouted, clutching his gun protectively.
The circle of pirates burst into laughter again, the air lightening, but inside Stanlee the fire burned hotter. He wanted more. He wanted all of it.
Quiet Reflection
Later that night, when the crew had drifted back into revelry, Stanlee sat by the waves with Gaimon beside him. The stars shimmered above, reflected in the rolling tide.
"So," Gaimon said, his voice softer than usual. "Still dead set on breaking your body every morning?"
Stanlee nodded. "More than ever. If Haki is human potential, then I'll push mine until there's nothing left to push."
Gaimon snorted, though his eyes softened. "You'll end up like me, stuck in a box, if you're not careful."
Stanlee chuckled. "Maybe. But if I do, I'll punch the box to pieces."
Gaimon burst out laughing, shaking the chest. "Hah! That's the spirit!"
Stanlee looked back out at the sea. In the distance, the Red-Hair Pirates' ship rocked gently, golden light spilling from its windows. For the first time, the world felt closer. Tangible.
I'll reach it, he thought. Not as a pirate. Not as a slave to any flag. But as the freest man alive.