"Running across the sea… that one's no amateur."
"The aura isn't that strong—about a Marine vice admiral at best. Nothing to fear."
Mihawk and Redfield sized up the approaching presence almost at the same time.
"It's a friend of Senior Red," Creed said lightly—naming the guest long before the figure came into view. Mihawk and Redfield traded a look, both a touch surprised. Creed's perception clearly outstripped theirs if he could identify someone at such range.
Moments later, the "guest" came into sight—
a gentleman in a suit… with a skull for a head, walking stick in hand.
"What manner of ghoul is this? I'll cut it down," Mihawk murmured, fingers already brushing Yoru's hilt—until Creed lifted a hand to stop him.
"Oh—it's him. Likely bringing word from Moria? Still… he looks familiar somehow," Redfield frowned. The first instant he'd laid eyes on the skeleton, something had tugged at him. Seeing him again, that tug was stronger.
Of course he looks familiar, Creed thought. He was your guide back then—the one you admired most. Without him, the solitary, world-weary "little Red" might never have set foot on the pirate's path.
"Yohohoho—finally caught up," the skeleton panted cheerfully as he drew near.
"Mr. Brook, what brings you chasing us?" Creed asked, curious.
The name struck Redfield like a spark to tinder. One glance at that unmistakable afro and he jolted—emotion rising unbidden.
"Captain Creed, thank you for retrieving my shadow. I, Brook, have little with which to repay such a grace—so please allow me to serve as your crewmate and devote myself to your cause."
He bowed with elegant sincerity. Life without a shadow had been a constant terror—one careless step into sunlight and he'd crumble to dust. To have it restored was, to him, no less than a second life.
Creed smiled. "You're too polite, Mr. Brook. A small favor, nothing more."
"You're Brook… from the Rumbar Pirates?" Redfield asked, face alight.
Brook looked him over in surprise. "Do you know me, sir?"
"I'm little Red! The aloof kid, remember? We met at Coconut Port—you treated me to a very expensive red wine and played 'Binks no Sake' on your violin! Your captain, Yorki, was there too…"
Redfield's voice rose, uncharacteristically fervent. Brook's face had changed—but that voice was exactly the same as that day.
"'Binks no Sake'… Coconut Port… the aloof little Red… Ah! I remember now—little Red! To meet you here of all places—and with companions at your side—that's wonderful!"
Excitement warmed Brook's tone—but then it faltered. "Wait—that can't be right. You look twenty-eight, twenty-nine at most. If I recall, we met over fifty years ago. Are you… little Red's grandson, perhaps?"
He wondered if he'd misheard earlier.
"Mr. Brook, it's a long story…" Redfield quickly ushered him forward. "Come aboard, eat and drink with us—we'll talk it through."
Watching Redfield's barely contained joy, Creed knew he was likely about to gain another crewmate. Brook wasn't strong yet—but with the Yomi Yomi no Mi (Revive-Revive Fruit) developed properly, he could one day restrain even Big Mom's Soru Soru no Mi (Soul-Soul Fruit). More than that, though—if Redfield asked, Creed would not refuse.
And besides—Creed had taken no dislike to Brook. On the long voyage ahead, a musician who could leave melodies lingering in the air sounded like a blessing.
Robin and the others had seen Brook before and didn't startle. Falkor and the giant bat, however, circled the skeleton gentleman in fascination, chittering "iin iin iin" and "gulu gulu" without pause.
"You?!" Perona stiffened, a bit awkward. Brook had purified many of Moria's zombies, plunging Thriller Bark into chaos—she'd "worked overtime" plenty because of that.
"Two lovely ladies—may I admire your panties?" Brook bowed after Creed introduced everyone, asking Robin and Perona with practiced elegance.
Pfft!
Mihawk and Redfield both sprayed red wine straight out of their noses.
"No." Robin's eightfold bloom nearly wrenched his skull out of alignment.
"Pervs belong in hell!"
Boom—boom—boom!
A furious Perona volleyed Ghost Bombs one after another, blasting him until he nearly fell to pieces.
Redfield could only rub his forehead and pretend not to see. In his heart, the lofty mentor-image of Brook was… crumbling.
"Let's toast!" Creed raised a glass and reignited the mood, laughter and chatter rolling back over the deck.
"A banquet begs for music. Allow me to play 'Binks no Sake' for everyone."
"Yes!" Redfield clapped first, and expectation spread across the crew.
"Binks no Sake"—a pirate's song that had traveled the world—was a tavern staple in the New World, oft hummed or belted by drinkers in chorus.
Brook reached behind him and produced a violin, then drew a twin-edged blade from his cane (shikomizue). He set the bow—steel on string.
"With a sword… to bow a violin?" Mihawk blinked despite himself.
Music leapt from the blade, airy and bright, washing softly through the ears and into the heart—
tension loosening, spirits lifting:
"Bring a bottle of Binks' finest—this midnight's for one alone,
Drink deep and dream of days long gone,
By my side you stayed, like the moon's clear glow,
Spilling silver over the sea—another perfect night…"
The last note hung—and silence followed. Then applause crashed like surf.
"Mr. Brook, that was amazing!" Perona cried, clapping hard.
"So enjoyable," Robin added. "Your musicianship is astonishing, Mr. Brook."
"That feeling… after fifty long years—I finally have it again," Redfield murmured, scarcely able to contain himself.
Brook, however, fell quiet when the song ended—melancholy shading his empty sockets as old memories stirred. The others might not have known why, but Creed did. He stepped forward and patted Brook's shoulder.
(End of Chapter)
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