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Blue Lock : The Spirit of The Greatest
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Rainwater dripped from the roofs of the tavern, splashing into the puddles between them with a rhythmic plink, plink, plink. It was the only sound in the world.
Aster stood his ground, his hand hovering near the handle of Crimson Abyss. Across from him, the stranger with the hawk-like eyes — Mihawk — stood with his hand near the crossguard of Yoru.
They were statues.
Two predators who had stumbled into the same cage, waiting for the other to twitch. Aster's Observation Haki was painting a picture of the man in front of him: sharp, lethal, efficient. A sword that could cut steel like paper.
Mihawk's eyes were boring into Aster's soul, dissecting him, analyzing the threat level, measuring the distance.
One minute passed. Then two.
YESSS!!!
The scream erupted in Aster's mind, shattering his concentration so hard he almost flinched physically.
What the hell was that?! Aster snapped internally, his mental voice a mix of shock and irritation.
Opportunity! Flamey yelled, his spirit-voice practically bouncing off the walls of Aster's skull. Look at him, Aster! Look at that aura! Look at that sword! He's strong. And he's lonely. He's broke — I can feel his stomach rumbling from here. It's perfect!
So, Aster thought, keeping his external face a mask of stone. He's a threat. I should fight him.
Fight him? Are you stupid? Flamey scoffed. You fight him, you might win, you might lose, but you definitely get cut. And then what? You limp to the Grand Line alone? No, no, no. Use your brain, kid. Ask him to join. He can be your vice captain!!!
Aster blinked. The rain ran down his nose.
Join what?
Your crew!
...Are you insane? Aster asked, genuinely baffled. I don't have a crew. I'm a Bounty Hunter. Why would a guy like this, a guy carrying a Supreme Grade Black Blade, join a 'bounty hunting crew'? That's not even a real thing.
Stop making excuses! Flamey accused. It's a thing if you say it's a thing! You're just scared.
I am not scared of him, Aster growled mentally. I can take him.
I'm not talking about fighting, you idiot. I'm talking about talking. You're scared of making a friend.
Aster stiffened. The accusation hit a weird, sore spot in his chest.
You serious right now? We are standing in a dark alley with a potential enemy, and you're psychoanalyzing me?
Dead serious, Flamey said, his voice dropping to a weirdly solemn tone. You spent fourteen years talking to an old man, a scary bar lady, and a ball of fire in your head. You have zero social skills. You don't know how to talk to someone your own age without trying to kill them.
I do so, Aster defended weakly.
Prove it, Flamey challenged. Go over there. Invite him. Don't kill him. Just... recruit him.
Aster gritted his teeth. He hated it when the spirit was right. He looked at Mihawk. The guy hadn't moved a muscle. He was still staring, ready to pull his sword.
Fine, Aster thought. Watch this.
He broke his stance.
The shift in the air was palpable. Mihawk's eyes narrowed instantly, his grip tightening on Yoru. He expected an attack. He expected a Haki-infused burst of speed.
Aster took a step forward.
Mihawk's Haki flared.
Aster took another step. He walked casually, deliberately, letting his arms hang loose at his sides to show he wasn't reaching for the axe. He closed the distance, the water squelching under his boots.
Ten feet. Five feet. Three feet.
He stopped right in front of the swordsman. Aster was slightly taller than Mihawk, so he had to look down.
Aster looked him in the eye. He opened his mouth. He summoned all the charisma of his father, all the wisdom of Rayleigh.
"What's up?" Aster said.
It came out flat. Robotic. Awkward.
Silence descended on the alley. It wasn't the tense silence of battle anymore. It was the crashing sound of social failure.
...Wow, Flamey whispered. That was... painful.
Aster stood there. He didn't know what to do next. He hadn't planned past the greeting. He just stared at Mihawk, his face frozen in a grin that was supposed to be a casual expression.
Mihawk stared back. His golden, hawk-like eyes blinked once. Slowly. He seemed to be processing the sheer anti-climax of the moment. He had been ready to draw the Black Blade, to engage in a death match that would level the city block.
Instead, he got... "What's up?"
Mihawk cleared his throat. It was a dry, rusty sound. "So," he said, his voice low and cultured, but laced with confusion. "What do we do now?"
Aster scratched the back of his neck, feeling the scar tissue there. He decided to just rip the bandage off.
"Um," Aster started, glancing at the rain puddles. "Would you... like to join my crew?"
Mihawk's face hardened instantly. The confusion vanished, replaced by a cold sneer of disdain.
"You're a pirate," Mihawk stated. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation. "I have no interest in sailing under a Jolly Roger, looting villages, and playing pretend king with a bunch of drunks."
"No," Aster said quickly, shaking his head. "Not a pirate crew."
Mihawk raised an eyebrow. "Then what? Marines? You don't look like a dog of the government."
"A Bounty Hunter crew," Aster said.
Mihawk stared at him. He blinked again. "Is that... even a thing?"
Aster paused. He thought about it. Usually, bounty hunters worked alone or in small organizations. A dedicated, ship-sailing "crew" of hunters was... rare.
"Yeah?" Aster said, trying to sound confident.
Mihawk looked at him. He looked at the axe on Aster's back. He looked at the white streak in his hair.
"Let me guess," the swordsman said dryly. "You made that up right now."
Aster felt his face heat up slightly. "Kind of."
Aster sighed, expecting the hawk-eyed man to say no.
But Mihawk didn't do so.
Instead, a very small, very faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Mihawk looked at Aster. He looked at the Crimson Abyss. He felt Yoru humming against his spine, vibrating with that strange, frantic joy it had shown earlier. The blade wanted this. The blade wanted to clash with that axe.
And then, Mihawk thought about his pocket.
He had enough berries for maybe a stick of dried meat. He had no ship. He had no map. He was currently standing in the rain in Loguetown, the city of beginnings, with absolutely no way to begin anything.
And here was a guy. A guy who was strong. A guy who wielded a Supreme Grade weapon. A guy who seemed just as socially broken and violence-prone as he was.
A "Bounty Hunter Crew."
It was absurd, and it offered no glory, no titles, no Pirate King throne.
It offered... freedom. And fights.
"Why not?" Mihawk thought. "I get to train with someone who actually knows how to hold a weapon. I get a sparring partner who won't die in one hit. And... he probably has food."
Mihawk sighed, releasing the tension in his shoulders.
"Sure," he said. "I'll join."
Aster blinked, stunned. "For real?"
"Don't make me repeat myself," Mihawk said, adjusting his collar. "But I have conditions. I am not a subordinate. I am a partner. And if you bore me... I leave."
"Deal," Aster said, a genuine grin breaking across his scarred face.
"Yup," Mihawk said, turning around. "Let's get going. I assume you actually have a ship, or did you make that up too?"
"I have a ship," Aster said, feeling a surge of triumph. "And food. Lots of food."
Mihawk's step quickened noticeably.
The walk to the docks was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence this time. The tension of a death-match had been replaced by the wary curiosity of two wolves deciding to run in the same pack.
They reached the darker, private docks where Rayleigh had moored the boat.
Mihawk stopped. He looked at the vessel.
It was a single-masted sloop, painted a matte, light-absorbing black. It was sleek, compact, and clearly built for speed and rough waters. It wasn't a massive galleon, but it was sturdy.
"Not bad," Mihawk admitted, inspecting the hull. "It's small. But it's clean."
"It's fast," Aster said, hopping onto the deck. He began untying the ropes. "Get on. We lose the tide, we lose the day."
Mihawk stepped aboard with a grace that defied the massive sword on his back. He sat near the stern, leaning against the gunwale, watching Aster work the sails.
"So," Mihawk said, crossing his arms. "Captain. Where are we going? We're in the East Blue. Do we hunt the local trash? Or do we head for the Grand Line?"
Aster finished securing the mainsheet. He stood at the tiller, looking out at the gray, stormy ocean. The execution was over. The era had begun. And they were already behind.
He looked back at Mihawk. His golden eyes were burning with that intense, focused fire that made him look like his father.
"We're skipping the small fry," Aster said. "We're going to the Grand Line."
Mihawk nodded. "Standard. Reverse Mountain, then?"
"Yes," Aster said. "But we're not just passing through."
"Oh?"
"We have a stop to make," Aster said, his voice dropping an octave. "We have to cross the mountain. We have to enter the currents. Because... we have a giant to recruit."
Mihawk froze. He stared at Aster.
"A giant?" Mihawk repeated slowly. "You mean... a giant from Elbaf?"
"Not just a giant," Aster said, a cryptic, slightly insane smile playing on his lips. "A specific one. Someone who should easily join us."
He turned the tiller, and the black sloop caught the wind, cutting through the waves like a shark fin.
Mihawk sat back, staring at the white-haired maniac steering the boat.
Most rookies entered the Grand Line praying to survive. Most people avoided giants at all costs.
And this guy? This guy wanted to walk into the most dangerous sea in the world and recruit a monster as his second crewmate.
"This guy," Mihawk muttered to himself, a mixture of disbelief and excitement bubbling in his chest, "is absolutely insane."
He reached up and touched the hilt of Yoru.
Good, Mihawk thought, watching the horizon tilt. Sanity is boring anyway
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