East Blue, on a certain island.
Ryan sat by the window of his inn room, a half-smoked cigar pinched between his fingers. In his other hand, he held a newspaper just delivered by a server. The front-page headline was printed in bold black letters: "Brutal Criminal Appears in East Blue, Entire 153rd Branch Martyred."
His gaze shifted downward to a blurry photo that occupied nearly half the page—it showed him leaning against a ship's railing smoking. Below, in striking red font, it read: Wanderer—Ryan, bounty 60 million Belly.
"Heh." Ryan chuckled softly. "They work fast."
The newspaper vividly described the "murder of Captain Nezumi and his subordinates," even adding dramatic embellishments about the "criminal's cruel methods and suspected special abilities."
Test Subject No. 731 from Punk Hazard—this name had long been in the World Government's intelligence files. When he escaped from Punk Hazard two years ago, he knew it was only a matter of time before it came out.
No matter how tight-lipped the villagers of Cocoyasi Village were, they couldn't hide from professional intelligence agents. Besides, during his months wandering around East Blue, he hadn't exactly been hiding his tracks.
60 million... This amount was earth-shattering for East Blue—three times that of Fish-Man Arlong.
To be fair, the bounty was quite reasonable. Destroying a Marine branch definitely qualified as the serious crime of "directly opposing the Marines," far more severe than ordinary pirate pillaging.
But that was all.
The bounty was stuck at 60 million—neither too high nor too low—precisely at the threshold of "threatening basic order" while "not yet touching higher interests."
Then again, aside from occasionally teaching a few clueless pirates a lesson, Ryan had never actively sought trouble. Unlike other criminals, he'd never slaughtered civilians. In the eyes of the World Government, he probably didn't yet qualify as "dangerous."
"A bit troublesome," Ryan murmured, extinguishing his cigar in the glass ashtray beside him with a faint sizzle.
Now that he was wanted, leisurely enjoying a drink or steak in East Blue's small towns wouldn't be so easy anymore.
But he wasn't afraid. This world operated on the principle that the strong ruled. If the Marines came hunting, he'd simply fight and kill them.
Still... why had they given him the title "Wanderer"? Was it because he often said he was just a traveler?
Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Miya emerged wrapped in a loose white bathrobe. The collar hung low, revealing her delicate collarbones, while the hem draped casually to her thighs, exposing a section of pale, slender calves.
Her damp golden hair cascaded over her shoulders as she walked toward Ryan, drying it with a towel. Droplets trailed down her neck and disappeared into the bathrobe.
"Ryan, your turn to shower," Miya said, her voice lazy from the bath and tinged with moisture. "Let's get food later—I'm starving."
"No rush." Ryan glanced at her, a faint smile curling his lips.
In the days since leaving Baratie, he and Miya had traveled together. By unspoken agreement, they never pried into each other's pasts—they were simply companions on the road, partnering up for mutual convenience.
Miya's worldly composure had granted him a few days of genuine comfort.
Of course, her striking beauty and alluring figure added vibrant colors to their journey.
"What has you so captivated?" Miya leaned forward curiously, her body gently pressing against Ryan's shoulder as she noticed his intense focus.
Her gaze fell upon the newspaper resting on Ryan's windowsill. The moment she registered its contents, her eyes widened in shock, all traces of laziness and amusement vanishing from her face. She stumbled backward several steps before losing her balance completely, collapsing to the floor with a soft thud.
Her bathrobe, already loose, gaped open from the fall, but Miya paid it no mind. Staring blankly at Ryan's photograph and the glaring red text in the newspaper, her mind went numb.
She had always sensed Ryan was no ordinary man—his skills and steady demeanor spoke volumes. Yet she never imagined he would be wanted by the Marines, accused of assaulting them, with a bounty as high as 60 million Belly.
60 million Belly—more than three times the bounty on Krieg, whom they had encountered at Baratie!
She had witnessed Krieg's brutality firsthand. But Ryan? The man who had shared her bed and exchanged lighthearted banter over the past few days—was he truly such a vicious criminal?
Fear, shock, disbelief—a whirlwind of emotions churned within Miya. Sitting on the floor, her body trembling slightly, she looked at Ryan with unfamiliarity and wariness in her eyes.
She simply couldn't reconcile the seemingly carefree man before her with the "dangerous criminal" depicted in the newspaper.
"Get up. I won't hurt you," Ryan exhaled a plume of smoke, his gaze fixed on Miya as she cowered on the ground through the hazy swirls.
Miya lifted her head, fear still lingering in her eyes, but her tense posture eased slightly at his words.
"After these days together, don't you have a sense of who I am?" Ryan flicked the ash from his cigarette and smiled. "Why be so afraid?"
Pursing her lips, Miya slowly rose to her feet, pulling the slipped corner of her bathrobe back into place. Her expression was complex—guarded, puzzled, and tinged with an inexplicable reluctance.
The peace and comfort of the past few days felt genuine, and the occasional warmth Ryan showed didn't seem feigned. Yet the Bounty notice in the newspaper weighed on her heart like a heavy stone.
After a moment of silence, Miya asked, "What will you do now?"
"Leave this place," Ryan replied without hesitation. His eyes swept over her—the loose bathrobe clinging to her form, her golden hair still damp, the fear in her eyes replaced by hesitation. A faint, elusive smile touched his lips. "Shall we bid our final farewell?"
Miya froze for a second before understanding dawned. Their time together was coming to an end, and perhaps this was the most fitting conclusion for them.
She stared at Ryan for a few seconds, then stepped toward him without much hesitation. Kneeling, she settled before him as if performing a familiar ritual.
Her golden hair cascaded, obscuring most of her face, leaving only the faint blush coloring her ears visible.
Ryan smiled, his gaze drifting to the pedestrians outside the window. On the cobblestone street below, a fruit vendor haggled with a woman over his shoulder pole of goods, while a few children chased a ball past, their laughter crisp enough to pierce through the sea breeze.
To be honest, Miya's maturity and understanding truly made him feel quite content!
...
By evening, as dusk began to settle, Ryan gently pushed open the inn room door.
The fading sunlight spilled across the bed, where Miya lay fast asleep, likely exhausted. Her brows were slightly furrowed, and her long eyelashes rested delicately on her eyelids.
Ryan pulled out a heavy cloth pouch from his pocket and set it on the bedside table—inside were gold coins, payment for her company these past few days. Without another word, he turned, closed the door behind him, and headed down the street.
The streets were quieter than during the day, with vendors packing up their stalls. The air carried the scent of food and the salty tang of the sea. Hands in his pockets, Ryan walked at a leisurely pace, pondering his next move.
"East Blue really has nothing left to offer," he muttered to himself, glancing toward the distant port. "Alright then, time to check out the Grand Line!"