On the island's shore, the ship came to a slow stop as it docked. The gentle lapping of waves against the hull mingled with the distant cries of seabirds. Betty gazed out, scanning the dense treeline, unfamiliar flowers blooming in strange patterns, and the air heavy with silence. "Looks like no one's set foot here in a long time," she observed, a quiet edge of curiosity in her tone. The ship creaked softly as it settled.
"It's time to start an adventure—finally," Burgess said, his voice bright with anticipation. He looked around eagerly, breath catching as if the island's mystery had already claimed him.
Ethan swung his legs over the railing and dropped onto the sandy beach. "Let's go explore," he said simply.
Baccarat pointed toward a large boulder protruding near the treeline. Her lips curved into a gentle smile. "There's a big rock there. Maybe something interesting lies beneath."
For a moment, silence reigned—until a deep roar tore through the air.
From the shadows leapt a fierce tiger, its eyes cold and predatory, fangs glinting under the slanted sunlight. Its muscles rippled with lethal intent. The crew froze.
"I might not be able to take on Sea Kings—but you?" Burgess's lips curled into a cruel grin. Without hesitation, he sprang forward. In an instant, his fist blasted into the tiger's chest like a cannonball. The beast howled, claws scraping the earth, before collapsing with a final tremor. The roar died in its throat.
"Burgess-sama is mighty!" someone cried in awe.
But Ethan paid no heed to the fallen beast. He strode toward the boulder, his boots sinking slightly into the sand. Ancient carvings etched deep into the stone caught his eye—sleek, bold lines forming symbols that seemed alive with a sword's aura.
Betty stole a brief glance. Then she turned away, lips pressed tight. "Those symbols… they feel sharp, like steel against your skin."
Baccarat nodded, brows furrowed. "Yes… whoever carved those had a power beyond ordinary. It sends a chill through me."
Doc Q stepped closer, scanning the glyphs. "Master swordsman work. The hand that etched this—no ordinary technique."
Ethan did not respond. His gaze was drawn inward, deeper into the island's wild interior.
Burgess shrugged, lighting a cigar. "Treasure matters more than inscriptions. Let's move."
Betty exchanged a glance with Baccarat. A subtle smile played on her lips. "Your luck has never failed us," she whispered.
Baccarat chuckled softly. "Let's hope this time fortune favors us once more."
They advanced through overgrown underbrush, vines clawing at their clothes, branches slapping across faces. The air grew thick—humid, dense, heavy with the scent of unknown flowers and damp earth. The sound of crashing waves receded. Silence took over.
Then, ahead… a clearing.
An ancient palace rose before them, half-swallowed by vines and age. Its stone walls cracked, windows gaping like empty eye sockets. Yet there was a grandeur to it, impossible to ignore. The crew halted at the edge of the clearing.
"It's real," Burgess breathed. "Treasure exists… here!"
A ripple of excitement spread among them. Smiles cracked across hardened faces.
Then a voice came—not loud, but soft, almost shy, carrying an odd innocence.
"This is my territory. You may not come closer."
The tone startled them not with anger, but with puzzling youthfulness.
Betty exhaled a slow stream of smoke, eyes narrowing as she scanned the shadows. Nothing moved.
Baccarat tilted her head. "Sounds like… a small creature?"
Doc Q chuckled. "Talking animals — now that would be fascinating."
Ethan stepped forward, gait calm and confident. "Little friend. You've got spirit. Come with me to the sea. I promise good food, freedom, a world beyond this forgotten island."
At once, a small body hopped into view.
Out of the undergrowth emerged a juvenile civet-like creature. Its fur was pale gold, tail plumed and curling behind its tiny frame. It wore simple clothes: a pink tunic, blue pants. Its eyes were large, bright with curiosity.
Pato.
Gasps and murmurs rose among the crew.
"A tanuki… it speaks!" Baccarat exclaimed, eyes shining.
Betty merely shrugged, pressing her sunglasses tighter. "Just another creature."
Burgess laughed, claws cracking around his cigar. "Captain, you talk to a tanuki—and it wants to follow you? Funny world, eh?"
But Ethan offered no amusement. He crouched, arms wide, quietly gentle. "You could come with us. If you ever want to return… I'll bring you back."
Pato tilted his head, golden tail swishing inside him. His voice—tiny, hopeful—echoed: "Boss… don't leave me behind. I want to see the sea. I want… tasty food."
His plea hung in the humid air.
Betty looked at Baccarat. "Your fruit power… too strong. Everything just works for him with you around."
Burgess nodded. "True. Miss Baccarat's luck… curse or blessing, it doesn't matter—it works."
Doc Q cleared his throat, stepping forward. "That creature… interesting. Worth studying."
Baccarat's eyes glinted. "Doc Q—don't even think about it. Hurt it and you'll answer to me."
Silence fell.
Ethan rose and faced the palace gates. The heavy wooden doors creaked as they opened slowly. Inside, dusty halls stretched into darkness. At the very end, a stone pedestal stood, and atop it, two wooden boxes beckoned.
Doc Q grunted. "I hope we don't get Zoan arrogance in a box."
Burgess shrugged. "Logia are rare. Paramecia suffice."
Ethan opened the smaller box first. Inside rested an apple-shaped Devil Fruit, its skin a deep, swirling blue.
Burgess leaned closer. "Captain, what kind of fruit… Logia, perhaps?"
Betty frowned, brows drawn together. "A blue Devil Fruit… what could it do?"
Ethan caught the fruit, then tossed it aside without hesitation. "Probably Paramecia," he said. Then, ever composed, he opened the second box.
A red light exploded. An evil aura erupted, cold and thick. The air chilled; breath visible in frosty puffs.
Pato scrambled onto Ethan's shoulder, tail bristling. "Boss… that sword… it's evil!"
Baccarat's voice was quiet but serious. "Such a heavy aura… a normal person would be swallowed by it."
Betty leaned forward, eyes narrowed at the crimson blade. "This isn't just a great sword. Might be a supreme grade weapon."
Without flinching, Ethan grasped the hilt.
The sword trembled violently. A roar of dark energy surged upward. The crew staggered back.
"Captain!"
"Ethan!"
His eyes turned cold, amber with resolve. "Submit," he whispered.
An invisible shockwave — the surge of Conqueror's Haki — erupting outward. The blade trembled, wavered, then stilled. Its evil aura flickered… then died.
Silence swallowed the hall.
The blade lay calm. It had acknowledged him.
Ethan lifted it. A satisfied nod. "Very good."
Burgess erupted in laughter, slapping his thigh. "The captain triumphs!"
Doc Q's typical grin. "With that sword, our fleet's power becomes terrifying."
Betty studied Ethan — admiration in her eyes. Baccarat — something softer, affection, awe.
A crewman burst in. "Captain, the search is done. Nothing else. The palace is empty."
Ethan turned, sword in hand. "Then we go."
The crew filed out into the humid daylight.
"Yes, Captain Ethan."
Five days later…
The sky was clear, seagulls cried overhead. The ship cut through the vast sea, bow slicing waves into foam. Inside the training room, Ethan trained relentlessly.
He swung the crimson sword in wide arcs, each strike sending vibrations through the wood floor. Sweat dripped, muscles glowed under lantern light.
In a corner sat Helena Quinn — the woman once known as "Honey Queen." She watched him silently, legs crossed, one eyebrow raised. Her eyes softened over time; admiration deepened slowly.
"He works so hard, he forgets what rest even is," she murmured, tone gentle, almost amused.
She had joined him only two days before: after they landed in West Blue at Canaro Island.
POV — How Helena Quinn joined Ethan's crew
Helena moved through Canaro's crowded marketplace, her cloak pulled low over her features. She didn't notice the two rough men tailing her until a coarse hand locked on her shoulder.
"Nice catch, sister," one hissed. The other smirked. "You'll fetch a good price. Trump pirates pay well for charms like you."
Panic flared in her chest, but she held her ground. Not out of bravery — out of desperation.
Just as the stronger pirate stepped forward, sword drawn, a flash of steel cut through the humid air.
The pirate's blade shattered mid-swing. A golden sword pierced the second man's chest, sending him flying. Powdered brick and dust rained down.
The crowd froze. Helena's eyes widened.
Standing before the chaos was a man — tall, calm, with sharp eyes and a blade dripping with crimson light.
"You there," he said, voice low, steady. "Are you alright?"
She flinched, unable to speak. The pirate crawled back, clutching his wound, eyes wide with fear.
Ethan stepped forward. "I'm Captain Ethan. I won't have innocent people harmed where I sail." His gaze flicked to the shattered sword fragments. "If you come with me — you sail free. No chains. No price."
Helena felt tears sting her eyes: fear, relief, something like hope. No one had offered her a choice before.
She nodded once. "I… I'll go with you, Captain."
He turned, sheath tapping against his leg. "Then welcome aboard."
Her world changed that night.
Back in the present, Helena Quinn shifted in her seat, gaze fixed on Ethan's relentless practice. Her lips curved faintly, admiration plain.
Betty exhaled a thin stream of smoke, leaning against a table. "I'm used to Ethan being a training lunatic."
Baccarat brushed back a strand of her red hair, smile calm and assured. "Aboard this ship, one rule stands: strength rules." Her tone firm. "If Captain Ethan doesn't keep growing, he might lose his place—especially now, with more crew joining."
She paused, eyes scanning the room. Then she looked at Betty and Helena.
"If either of you wants a shot at rising… you'll have to work harder. Otherwise… you've got no chance