West Blue – Baccaro Port Town
Baccaro was a place time forgot.
Far from Grand Line winds and Marine fleets, it lived in a dull peace. Fishing boats. Local taverns. Old money dying quietly in salt and oak. On the surface, it was the perfect place for us to begin our slow descent into the world.
But peace is never permanent.
And peace is never real.
Noon – The First Spark
The tavern was quiet when he arrived. Cloaked, scarred, eyes wary. He had no bounty posters. No title.
But I recognized the tattoo beneath his sleeve—just for a moment, when he reached for his coin pouch.
A sun, wreathed in chains broken at both ends.
A Revolutionary.
I did nothing at first. Just sipped my tea and watched.
Raisa tensed beside me. Mireille's hand slowly moved toward her satchel — where she hid a needle-thin blade soaked in a venom I distilled myself.
"No," I whispered.
They froze.
"He's not a threat," I said. "He's a lesson."
Evening – A Match Lit
His name was Callen. He wore it like an afterthought, more of a placeholder than an identity. The locals didn't recognize him. But the old woman who ran the tavern? She paused too long when she handed him a bottle of wine.
He was known. Just not openly.
I spent two days watching him stir nothing — which is the most dangerous kind of movement.
On the third, he began to speak.
Just to the tavern regulars. Gentle conversations. Casual questions. Did they know where their taxes really went? Had they heard about Mariejois's slave market? Did they ever wonder why their sons joined the Marines but never came home?
I saw the flicker in their eyes.
Doubt.
That was when I knew I had to act.
Night – Smoke in the Quiet
"I'm going out," I told Raisa.
She followed anyway.
I found Callen in the back alley of the tavern, sipping watered wine beneath a flickering lamp.
"You're very good at pretending not to lead," I said, stepping into the light.
He didn't reach for a weapon. That told me everything. He thought I was harmless.
"Do I know you?"
"No," I said. "But I know you."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're the Vale noble."
I smiled faintly. "That's the name I wear. It's not mine."
"…Then what is?"
"Does it matter?" I said, stepping closer. "Names are just shackles. But I'm curious. What do you plan to do here?"
He hesitated, then shrugged. "Talk. Plant ideas. Maybe leave them better than I found them."
"That's noble," I said. "You want to give these people freedom."
"I do."
I nodded thoughtfully… then struck.
The Lesson
Raisa struck first, a blur in the shadows. Her blade stopped just short of Callen's throat.
He flinched — too slow to react.
"Let's talk," I said.
"You—"
"Shh. Don't waste breath on outrage."
He gritted his teeth.
"You've spoken about freedom," I continued. "Let me show you what that really means."
I pulled a simple coin from my pocket and flipped it in the air.
"Call it," I said.
"…What?"
"If you're right, you walk away. If not… you disappear."
Callen stared, eyes wild. "This is insane."
"Of course it is," I said, smiling. "But isn't that what you were teaching? That the world is broken? That truth is madness in the land of kings?"
He called heads.
It landed tails.
Raisa's blade didn't flinch.
But I raised a hand.
"Not yet," I said.
Morning – Ashes and Whispers
Callen vanished.
No blood, no body.
The villagers would forget him soon enough. Their lives were too quiet to make space for memory.
But the seed he planted? It remained.
Whispers. Doubts. Questions.
And I let them spread.
Because fear is more effective than fire when you want to keep people in line. But hope? Hope is the perfect bait.
Villa Balcony – Later
Mireille sat beside me on the balcony overlooking the sea.
"You let him go," she said.
"No," I said. "I let him live."
She tilted her head. "What's the difference?"
"One speaks. The other whispers."
She nodded, thoughtful. "Will he be a threat?"
"Eventually," I said. "But not now. Now, he's a spark."
I poured two glasses of blood-red wine.
"And one day, when I light the powder, I'll need a thousand little sparks."