With the Krieg Pirates dealt with and the bloodstains on the deck washed away by the seawater, the restaurant quickly returned to its usual bustle.
The shouts of the busy chefs at the stoves, the crisp clinking of knives and forks, and the laughter and chatter of the diners blended together as if the fierce battle moments ago had never happened.
At the table by the window, Ryan practically buried his face in his seafood paella. His silver fork moved with such vigor that it seemed he wanted to chew the plate itself with every bite. Grease from the tuna steak dripped down the corner of his mouth.
Ryan casually wiped it with his sleeve and continued his struggle with the lobster on his plate.
Miya sat beside Ryan, having changed into a clean white dress with her long hair loosely tied back. She carefully cut into her filet mignon with a silver knife, the utensils making crisp sounds against the porcelain plate.
Occasionally glancing at Ryan's unrestrained eating manners, she didn't frown but instead wore a faint smile at the corner of her lips.
A woman's heart can be strange sometimes. If you're weak, no matter how properly you hold your dinner knife, it will only be seen as pretentious. But when you demonstrate power enough to overturn the waves, even the sauce splattered on your shirt while eating can be interpreted as carefree nonchalance, radiating a candidness that others can't imitate.
Hawkeye sat across from them, having only taken a sip of the red wine before him. His Black Blade Night leaned against the chair, with a clean napkin placed where the scabbard touched the floor. Watching Ryan devour his third plate of food like a whirlwind, his yellow pupils held a trace of inquiry: "Where did you learn your swordsmanship?"
Ryan was stuffing a large piece of grilled lobster into his mouth when he heard this. He let out a muffled scoff, lobster fragments spraying onto his plate: "From an old bastard."
"Sounds like you hold quite a grudge against him." Hawkeye picked up his wine glass, the crimson liquid swirling gently inside.
"More than just a grudge." Ryan swallowed the food in his mouth, grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth roughly, a cold glint flashing in his eyes: "So I killed him."
Hawkeye studied Ryan for a moment without speaking, merely gently swirling his wine glass, the reflected light flickering across his face.
"Aren't you curious?" Ryan raised an eyebrow, pouring himself a glass of rum and gulping down half the bottle.
"Everyone has their own past." Hawkeye's voice remained flat and unemotional: "I only believe what my eyes see."
"Heh." Ryan chuckled lightly and said nothing more.
There was no denying that the old bastard Golden Lion had taught him skills. Without Golden Lion, he couldn't have transformed from a greenhorn who couldn't even hold a sword steadily into a swordsman capable of withstanding dozens of Hawkeye's moves in just two years.
But those imprisoned days and nights, the pain of being treated as a test subject, the humiliation carved into his bones—these were also "gifts" left by that old bastard.
"The skills are real, and the bastard was real too." Ryan picked up his knife and fork, cutting another large piece of steak and stuffing it into his mouth, his tone unreadable: "Just like this wine you're drinking. No matter how well it's brewed, if the brewer pissed in it, would you still find it mellow?"
Hawkeye looked at his tense jawline and suddenly let out a soft "Hmm" in response. That low hum held no judgment, only an understanding that said, "So that's how it is."
"But it's nothing major." Ryan chewed on his steak, then suddenly chuckled softly and tapped his plate with the back of his knife. "It's all in the past."
Hawkeye took a sip of his wine and abruptly asked, "What's with the Flame Cloud beneath your feet that lets you hover in mid-air?"
"Oh, that's my Devil Fruit ability," Ryan replied, his mouth still full of beef, his words slightly muffled.
Hawkeye wore an expression that said "just as I thought." His fingers lightly traced the rim of his glass as he spoke in a calm yet unshakably certain tone: "Devil Fruit abilities may be marvelous, but for a pure swordsman, they are ultimately external aids. True strength comes from the sword in your hand and the way in your heart, not from these unorthodox enhancements."
"Whether it's a sword or a Devil Fruit, anything that proves useful is power," Ryan swallowed his food and shrugged indifferently. "Every strong person in this world has climbed their way up by stepping on a pile of 'power.'"
Hawkeye didn't argue further. Instead, he picked up his glass again and downed half the red wine in one go. His gaze fixed on Ryan as he asked curiously, "What are your plans next?"
"Just wandering around," Ryan wiped his mouth, a hint of careless wildness flashing in his eyes. "Whether it's the Grand Line or the Four Seas, this world is vast—I ought to see it all."
"A fine idea," Hawkeye nodded, his eyes falling upon the cracked Wind Splitter at Ryan's waist. "I hope you find a sword that truly suits you on your journey."
"Don't worry," Ryan was busy tackling the last piece of steak with his knife and fork. Hearing this, he looked up and grinned. "Once I find a blade that can withstand my full strength, you'll be the first one I come looking for."
"I'll be waiting," Hawkeye's tone remained even, but a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of anticipation flashed in his eyes, as if acknowledging a long-agreed-upon duel.
With that, Hawkeye finished the remaining wine in his glass and stood up. His Black Blade Night gently brushed against the floor with a solid, muffled thud. "I should be going."
Ryan raised his knife and fork in a casual gesture, not bothering to stand, and simply smiled. "Safe travels."
Hawkeye didn't look back, merely waving a hand as his wine-red cloak flickered in the light at the doorway before disappearing in the direction of the deck. The sound of the Coffin Ship setting sail echoed from afar, like a silent promise drifting over the sea.
Ryan chewed on his steak and suddenly felt that this meal had been particularly satisfying. After finishing the last piece, he grabbed the coat draped over the back of his chair, slung it over his shoulder, fished a few gold coins from his purse, and slapped them onto the table—not too loudly, but enough to catch the waiter's attention.
"Let's go," he said, tilting his head toward Miya.
Miya set down her knife and fork, dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin, and stood up. Her skirt brushed against the floor, carrying with it a faint scent of gardenia. She naturally linked her arm with Ryan's and obediently followed him toward the exit.
Just as they reached the corridor leading from the restaurant to the deck, they spotted the Straw Hat Pirates crowded around a corner not far away.
At that moment, the Straw Hat Kid was tugging vigorously on Sanji's arm, his mouth stuffed full as he mumbled incoherently, "Sanji, come aboard my ship! I'm going to be the Pirate King, and I need a cook like you on my crew!"
"Idiot!" Sanji's tray clattered noisily as he shielded the desserts on his plate while swatting away Luffy's hand in annoyance: "How could I possibly go with someone like you who doesn't even know where your next meal is coming from!"
Though his words were harsh, a flicker of uncertainty hid in his eyes.
Ryan's gaze swept over them, lingering on Luffy's carefree face for half a second - but only half a second.
He didn't speak, nor did he pause, simply keeping his arm around Miya's waist as he walked straight past them down the opposite side of the corridor.
The Straw Hat Kid had his adventures, and Ryan had his own journey. They were parallel lines that needn't deliberately intersect.
"Hey! That guy..." Usopp muttered unconsciously as he watched their retreating figures, "He was just with that woman on the ship... How could he do this to Kaya? That's just too much!"
"Scumbags will be scumbags," Nami murmured under her breath, though her eyes followed Ryan's back for several seconds with an indescribable complexity.
"He's just leaving like that?" Luffy finally released Sanji, munching on a meat leg as he scratched his head in confusion while watching Ryan and Miya depart: "I haven't even talked to him about joining the crew yet..."