"What's going on... Why is it suddenly so noisy outside... And those gunshots..."
On the small boat swaying gently beside the Baratie, Miya's voice came intermittently, laced with the lazy slur of intoxication.
Her delicate face was flushed red from alcohol, a thin layer of sweat glistening at her temples. A few strands of her meticulously styled golden hair had come loose, clinging damply to her neck, exuding an alluring charm amplified by the heat.
Listening to stories naturally drew one deeper into the moment.
"Want to know? Then take a look," Ryan's voice carried a hint of nonchalant roughness as he gently guided her toward the window with a slight tug of his arm.
"Don't... Someone might see." Miya tensed up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, her cheeks burning even hotter as her breath hitched momentarily.
Her protest lacked conviction—there were only the two of them on the boat, and with the chaos unfolding at the Baratie, who would bother glancing at this small corner?
Yet being half-carried toward the window like this made her feel as if some hidden secret of hers might be exposed, her fingertips tingling with warmth.
"Relax, a better view isn't so bad," Ryan chuckled lowly, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Might as well see who's making all that noise."
With that, he pushed open the small window embedded in the hull. A gust of wind, thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and the briny tang of seawater, rushed in, instantly dispersing the alcoholic haze inside the cabin.
Miya's stray locks fluttered wildly in the wind, a few rebellious strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, sharpening her muddled thoughts slightly. Instinctively, she leaned forward, bracing herself against the smooth wooden frame of the window, her previously drowsy eyes snapping wide open.
The sight outside froze her in place, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as if her breath had been stolen.
On the sea, a massive three-decked sailing ship stood out starkly, its hull pitch-black like ink. The prow was carved into the snarling visage of a black panther, fangs bared, its eyes embedded with eerie green glass that glinted ominously in the sunlight.
The skull flag on its sails was blackened by cannon fire, an hourglass painted on either side of the skull. The flag flapped violently as the ship rocked, while a burly man stood at the bow, his armor glinting coldly under the moonlight as he brandished a sword, roaring orders at his crew.
"That's... Krieg the Pirate, with a bounty of 17 million Belly!" Miya's voice trembled, fear eclipsing her drunken haze as she instinctively shrank back into Ryan's embrace.
All traces of earlier embarrassment vanished, replaced by a rush of blood to her head. Her fingers clenched the window frame so tightly her knuckles turned white, every slight sway of the boat now a source of panic.
So it hadn't been her imagination—the outside world really had turned upside down.
A bounty of 17 million Belly... In the East Blue, that was a name terrifying enough to silence crying children. She'd heard merchants speak of Krieg before—a man who wouldn't hesitate to slaughter even his own crewmates...
Ryan frowned slightly, patting Miya's trembling back with a light chuckle. "What's there to be nervous about? Relax."
He'd noticed the commotion outside long ago—the roar of cannons, the clashing of blades, the dull groans of splintering wood—but none of it held a candle to the golden-haired beauty in his arms.
Taking a breath, Ryan followed Miya's gaze, his eyes skimming over the chaotic battlefield without lingering on Krieg.
What truly caught his attention was the figure on the opposite side of the fray.
The man stood on a coffin-shaped boat absurdly small in comparison, his short black hair ruffled slightly by the sea breeze. His golden eyes, sharp as a hawk's, calmly surveyed the battling crowd as if the surrounding chaos were beneath his notice.
A neatly trimmed beard framed his face, and he wore a black top hat adorned with white fluff. His wine-red patterned shirt was layered under a black vest, his white trousers impeccably tucked into his boots—Dracule Mihawk, the world's greatest swordsman.
Ryan had sensed this formidable presence earlier, but he'd been too preoccupied with "elaborating" on those adventure stories with Miya to pay it any mind.
Now, on the deck opposite Mihawk, a green-haired swordsman stood with three blades drawn, their edges gleaming coldly under the moonlight.
Zoro's body was taut as a drawn bowstring, veins bulging at his temples. The gap in their strength was as vast as an egg striking a rock, yet his eyes burned with unyielding resolve, his stance radiating a stubborn determination to fight to the death.
"Challenging the world's greatest swordsman, huh..." Ryan tapped his fingers lightly against the window frame, a smirk playing on his lips.
Now this was far more interesting.
Miya, still reeling from the shock of Krieg's appearance, followed Ryan's gaze. The man in the top hat stood motionless, yet an indescribable pressure radiated from him—more chilling than the bloodthirsty pirates charging into battle.
"W-Who is that?" she asked, her voice tight as she instinctively pressed closer to Ryan.
"Dracule Mihawk," Ryan replied calmly, his hand resting on Miya's waist. "The world's greatest swordsman."
"The world's greatest swordsman?" Miya held her breath, her palms sweating.
She'd never heard the name before, but the weight of the title "world's greatest" was unmistakable. Just the thought of it made her legs weak, and she leaned even more heavily against Ryan.
Ryan, however, remained unfazed, even reaching out to tuck a stray golden lock behind Miya's ear, his fingers brushing her burning earlobe. His tone carried a hint of irritation at the interruption. "Let them fight. We should continue."
The spectacle outside would resolve itself eventually. What truly concerned him was where they'd left off before the gunfire interrupted them...
Miya blinked, then flushed even deeper, her fingers tightening on the window frame as she bit her lip.
She couldn't believe he was in the mood for this now... But his nonchalance did ease her tension somewhat.
Despite knowing the danger outside, he remained so calm and assured, as if he could shoulder the weight of the sky itself. That steadiness was oddly comforting.
Besides, Ryan's sheer dominance had already ensnared her attention—how could she spare a thought for anything else? Otherwise, with the deafening cannon fire and the boat shaking as if it might fall apart, how could she have only just noticed something was wrong?
Earlier, when the boat rocked violently, she'd thought it was... Only when the gunfire erupted did she realize the world outside had gone mad.
Ryan paid it no mind. Watching the tense standoff on the deck, he even retrieved a cigar from nearby, lighting it with a flick of his fingers before taking a slow drag.
Watching the show while riding a donkey—they'd see how it played out.
This showdown was certainly worth observing.