Lucian's sudden interruption caused the atmosphere in the bar to shift instantly.
Marco was completely stunned.
'What the hell is this kid doing?!'
He hadn't expected Lucian to speak up—let alone say something this outrageous.
"You're already old"?
"We've got other business too"?
'Is this kid insane?'
'Does he even know who he's talking to?! That's the legendary monster who used to drink and laugh with our Pops!'
Behind the bar, Shakky paused slightly in her glass-polishing. Her eyes lifted, amused, watching this bold young man with growing interest.
But Silvers Rayleigh, the center of attention, showed no reaction at all.
He simply turned his head slowly toward Lucian. The eyes behind his round lenses remained calm—like he was just glancing at a speck of dust floating by.
"Marco."
Rayleigh ignored Lucian entirely and instead shifted his gaze toward the First Division Commander.
"And who is this?"
His voice was still mild, but the pressure behind it was undeniable. Marco felt cold sweat forming down his spine.
'Dammit, Lucian. Why now?!'
'You've thrown everything off!'
But Marco was no rookie. As a seasoned commander, he forced down the rising tension, brain whirring for a recovery plan.
He quickly put on a slightly awkward but polite smile, grabbed Lucian, and pulled him forward.
"Mr. Rayleigh, allow me to introduce him."
"This is Lucian Thorn, our new crewmate."
As he spoke, Marco discreetly pinched Lucian's arm—hard—and shot him a sharp, warning look.
Then, in a more sincere tone, he added:
"This kid... he grew up on your stories, sir. You could say he's one of your most devoted admirers."
"Seeing you in person for the first time, he just got a bit too excited and spoke out of turn. Please don't take it personally."
It was half-truth, half-cover story. Marco tried to smooth things over while assigning Lucian a harmless identity—just a starstruck fanboy.
But the very next moment, Lucian shattered all his efforts.
He stepped forward, completely ignoring Marco's cue.
Standing tall and firm, he stared directly at the legendary man with no trace of fear or hesitation.
Gone was the teasing grin from before.
In its place was something fierce—almost sacred. A burning intensity surged from Lucian's body, raw and unfiltered. His fighting spirit roared to life like a blade drawn in silence, piercing Rayleigh's still air like lightning.
"Mr. Rayleigh!"
Lucian's voice rang out, strong and clear, every word echoing powerfully through the dim bar.
"My dream has always been to personally experience the speed and sharpness of the legendary blade—wielded by the Dark King himself, right hand of the Pirate King, Silvers Rayleigh!"
BOOM.
Marco's mind went blank.
'It's over.'
'This lunatic… he really challenged Rayleigh?!'
"Please, I beg you—spar with me!"
Lucian's chest heaved with emotion. His fists clenched tight. His eyes burned hot enough to set the air ablaze.
"Let a brat like me, who doesn't know his place, feel the true strength of the Pirate King's right hand!"
He wasn't just challenging.
He was declaring war.
Silence fell over the bar like a guillotine.
You could hear a pin drop.
Marco could even hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
He was already preparing for the worst. Ready to throw himself forward and beg for forgiveness. If that didn't work, he'd grab Lucian and run while Rayleigh was still calm enough not to split them in half.
Rayleigh said nothing.
Slowly, he removed his glasses.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a soft cloth, then began wiping the lenses with measured, deliberate care.
He didn't release any Haki.
He didn't exude any killing intent.
But it was precisely that absolute calmness that made the air unbearably tense.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
Just as Marco was about to crack under the pressure, Rayleigh stopped wiping.
He placed the glasses back on his face. His world-weary eyes focused again on Lucian.
This time, his gaze had changed.
No longer was he looking at a rude boy.
He was looking at a blade. Untempered steel. Raw potential waiting to be forged.
From this young man, he could feel something massive—vast, deep, and completely mismatched with his age.
And most startling of all, was that pure, uncompromising will to fight.
It wasn't about fame.
It wasn't about revenge.
It wasn't about pride.
It was just—the desire to challenge strength.
To reach the next peak.
To see what the world looked like from higher ground.
Just like…
Just like that idiot boy with the straw hat all those years ago…
Rayleigh's heart—silent for more than twenty years—shivered slightly, as if a stone had been tossed into a long-still pond.
A ripple. Faint, but real.
A spark flickered behind his calm eyes.
Then… he smiled.
Not the polite kind.
Not the amused kind.
But a genuine, bright, nostalgic smile—tinged with approval and just a bit of excitement.
"Heh…"
A soft laugh broke the frozen tension like a glass shattering on the floor.
"What an interesting brat."
Rayleigh tossed his newspaper casually onto the table. Then, with the same hand that had once wielded one of the world's finest blades, he picked up his drink and downed it in a single gulp.
Thud.
The empty glass hit the table, solid and final.
"Alright."
He looked straight at Lucian, and in his eyes danced a light that hadn't appeared in years.
"This old man will stretch his legs with you a bit."