The sound of crashing waves echoed against the docks of Shells Town. It was supposed to be a quiet morning. Fishermen unloading their catch, kids chasing seagulls, and the smell of salt and wood filling the air.
Then came the shouting.
"Pirates! They're back again!"
The voice carried through the village, slicing the calm like a blade through silk.
Ryo Tenshin stood at the edge of the street, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His black cloak fluttered with the sea breeze, his dark eyes steady. He didn't flinch when the first explosion shook the pier.
Smoke rose. People scattered. The pirate flag — a crude skull with a jagged scar — unfurled on a longboat sliding into the harbor.
Ryo sighed quietly. "Guess peace never lasts long here."
He walked forward. Not fast, not slow — just steady, like the tide itself.
The pirates stormed in — rough men with axes, pistols, and wild grins. They shouted about loot and rum, firing warning shots into the air.
"Grab the crates! Take the fish and the gold!" one yelled. "If anyone fights back, gut 'em!"
One villager tripped near Ryo, clutching a child. The pirate raised his blade.
Ryo's hand moved.
Sching.
A clean arc of light flashed. The pirate froze mid-swing — then his weapon split in half, clattering to the ground.
The crowd went silent.
Ryo didn't even look at the man. His blade, slender and silver-gray, glinted under the morning sun. "Walk away," he said, voice calm but unshakable.
The pirate stumbled back, cursing. "You bastard! You think one sword's enough to stop us?"
He gestured, and three more rushed forward.
Ryo moved like water. His feet barely touched the dirt as his sword danced through the air — one strike, two, three. Each blow found its mark before the pirates even realized they'd been hit. Their weapons fell apart. Their balance faltered.
By the time they hit the ground, Ryo was already turning away.
"You should've stayed on the ship," he murmured.
But then the air changed.
A heavy thud landed behind him — boots hitting the dock. The remaining pirates parted like frightened dogs as a massive man stepped forward.
He was huge — a wall of muscle with a scar running from his jaw to his collarbone, a cleaver-sized sword strapped across his back.
"That's quite the trick, boy," the man said, cracking his neck. "Didn't expect a swordsman to be guarding these peasants."
Ryo raised an eyebrow. "I'm not their guard."
"Oh?" the man grinned. "Then why'd you draw your blade?"
Ryo exhaled slowly, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "Because I hate men like you."
For a moment, silence. Then the pirate captain roared with laughter. "Big words, brat. I'm Gorren 'The Breaker,' bounty of 5 million berries! Let's see if you can back it up!"
He drew his cleaver — a chunk of iron so massive the dock creaked beneath it.
Ryo's expression didn't change. "Then let's test your title."
Gorren charged first, his sword swinging in a brutal horizontal slash. The wind screamed.
Ryo stepped forward — not back — and met the blow with a single clean draw.
Clang!
The shockwave cracked the wooden planks beneath them.
Gorren's grin faded when his cleaver chipped at the edge. "Huh?"
Ryo's eyes sharpened. "Your swing is strong, but empty."
He pivoted, shifting his stance low. "One Sword Style…"
The air stilled.
"—Flowing Edge!"
A blur of silver swept through the air, cutting the wind itself. The slash struck Gorren's shoulder, slicing through armor and drawing a deep crimson line.
The captain staggered back, eyes wide. "What… what was that move?"
Ryo didn't answer. His breathing was steady. The old man's training echoed in his head — A sword without focus is just a stick with sharp edges. Listen to the current. Flow with it.
He tightened his grip. "If you can't read the tide," Ryo said softly, "you'll drown in it."
Gorren roared and charged again, swinging with reckless fury. Every blow was loud, furious — but desperate.
Ryo's blade met each one with clean, efficient parries. Sparks danced around them.
He felt the weight of each strike vibrate through his arm. His muscles ached. His lungs burned. But his heart — calm.
Then the opening came.
A half-second pause between attacks. Ryo's body moved instinctively.
He twisted, brought the sword down in a perfect arc — and Gorren's blade split in two.
The pirate's eyes widened in disbelief as his weapon shattered.
Ryo finished it in one step, placing the tip of his blade at Gorren's chest. "It's over."
Gorren hesitated — then dropped to his knees, gasping. "Tch… who are you?"
Ryo sheathed his sword. "No one special."
He turned away as the villagers began to emerge, wide-eyed and trembling.
Hours later, the sun dipped low over Shells Town. The wrecked dock still smoked from the earlier blast, but the people had begun to rebuild. Children laughed again, helping carry wood.
Ryo sat near the edge of the pier, feet dangling over the water, blade resting beside him.
A boy approached shyly. "Mister… you really beat all those pirates?"
Ryo smiled faintly. "Something like that."
"Are you a Marine?"
He shook his head. "No. Just a traveler."
The boy nodded, studying him with awe. "Then you must be a hero."
That word made Ryo pause. Hero.
He stared at the sunset, orange light glinting off the blade's edge. "A hero, huh?" He smiled quietly. "Maybe one day."
The boy ran off, and Ryo's gaze softened. He thought of his mentor's final words — A sword should protect, not just kill.
That was why he trained. Not for fame. Not for revenge. But for something simple: to protect people who couldn't fight for themselves.
He stood, sheathing his sword and tightening the strap around his pack. The world was wide — and he'd only seen a corner of it.
"East Blue's a small pond," he said to himself, smirking. "Time to find a bigger ocean."
With that, he began walking down the dusty road out of town. The wind caught his cloak again, carrying it toward the horizon.
Somewhere far beyond the waves, the Grand Line waited — along with warriors, pirates, and swordsmen whose names shook the world.
Ryo's eyes narrowed slightly, the fire inside him steady. "One sword," he murmured. "That's all I'll ever need."
The wind whispered back — quiet, endless, and free.