The year 1500 of the Sea Circle Calendar.
The sun rose slowly over Gosa Village, casting pale gold across the quiet sea.
Fishing boats drifted lazily near the shore, their ropes creaking as the tide shifted beneath them. Nets hung from wooden frames along the dock, stiff with dried salt and mended countless times by patient hands. The smell of brine, fish, and wet wood lingered in the air—a scent Ryuunosuke Kaze had known his entire life.
He sat at the edge of the pier, legs dangling above the water, watching the surface ripple beneath him.
The sea looked calm.
That didn't mean it was safe.
Ryu rolled his shoulder carefully.
Pain flared, sharp but brief, before settling into a dull ache. He winced despite himself. The cut wasn't deep—any fisherman's wife could've stitched it—but it served as a reminder. Every movement, every breath, carried the memory with it.
A week had passed since the incident.
A week since strangers had arrived uninvited.
A week since fear had frozen him in place while danger reached out with a blade.
Ryu's jaw tightened.
He hated remembering how his body had betrayed him.
He had *seen* it coming. Had felt something wrong before the knife ever moved. His mind had screamed at him to act—but his limbs hadn't listened. They had locked, useless, as if they belonged to someone else.
If not for Kenji—
Ryu exhaled slowly and looked out toward the horizon.
Never again.
The world beyond Gosa Village was changing. Everyone could feel it, even if no one said it aloud. Ships passed more often now. Some flew flags. Others didn't bother. Rumors moved faster than tides—of men abandoning farms to chase dreams, of criminals calling themselves pirates with pride instead of shame.
The sea was calling people.
And it didn't care who answered.
Ryu pushed himself off the pier and landed lightly on the sand below. The ache in his shoulder flared again, but he ignored it. Pain meant he was still standing.
He didn't have a teacher.
No master swordsman.
No Marine drill instructor.
No wandering warrior with wisdom to spare.
Just instinct.
At first, it had been subtle—easy to dismiss as coincidence.
A chill crawling up his spine moments before someone appeared behind him.
A sudden urge to step aside just before something fell.
The strange sense of pressure when tempers flared nearby.
It didn't make sense. He wasn't stronger than anyone else in the village. He wasn't faster either. If anything, he'd always been painfully ordinary.
So he tested it.
Ryu ran every morning before the fishermen returned.
He sprinted along the shoreline until his lungs burned, feet sinking into wet sand with every step. When the tide crept too close, he veered inland, weaving through trees and uneven paths where roots threatened to trip him at every turn.
Sometimes he forced himself not to look.
Closing his eyes made his chest tighten, panic clawing its way up his throat—but he pushed through it. Without sight, the world felt louder, heavier. Every sound pressed against his awareness. The snap of a twig. The rush of wind through leaves. His own heartbeat, pounding too fast.
Most days, he fell.
Hard.
Scraped knees. Bruised ribs. Hands raw from catching himself too late.
But sometimes—
Sometimes his body moved on its own.
A sudden step to the side.
A duck he didn't consciously choose.
A stop just before crashing into something unseen.
Those moments scared him more than the pain ever did.
They meant something was changing.
By midday, exhaustion dragged him down.
Ryu collapsed beneath a tree near the forest's edge, chest heaving as sweat soaked through his clothes. His arms trembled as he stared up at the sky, watching clouds drift lazily overhead.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
"This is reckless."
Ryu groaned without opening his eyes. "You're late."
Kenji dropped down beside him, biting into an apple with a loud crunch. "I brought food. That earns me forgiveness."
Ryu cracked one eye open. "Barely."
Kenji smirked and tossed the apple core aside. "You keep this up and you're going to break something important."
"Already did," Ryu muttered, flexing his shoulder.
Kenji's smile faded slightly. "That still bothering you?"
"Only when I move," Ryu replied. "Or breathe."
Kenji snorted. "Good sign."
They sat quietly for a moment.
Kenji wasn't much older than Ryu, but there was a steadiness to him that Ryu lacked. He watched people carefully, noticed patterns. He hadn't frozen during the incident.
That difference lingered between them.
"You felt it again today," Kenji said finally.
Ryu nodded. "Yeah."
"That… thing."
Neither of them had a name for it.
Not yet.
They didn't talk about it much. Saying it out loud made it feel dangerous—like acknowledging it might make it vanish, or worse, attract attention.
That evening, the village gathered near the docks.
A Marine ship had passed earlier, white sails stark against the deepening sky. Marines didn't stay long in places like Gosa, but they always left something behind.
News.
Someone unfolded a newspaper near the lantern light. The pages were creased, edges softened by seawater and too many hands.
The headline was bold.
**"THE PIRATE KING EXECUTED — GOL D. ROGER DEAD"**
A hush fell over the crowd.
Ryu felt it—an invisible weight settling over the dock.
"The Pirate King…" someone murmured. "Dead."
"They say his last words…" another began. "Something about treasure."
"Inviting the world to take it," a fisherman said bitterly.
Ryu listened without speaking.
Gol D. Roger.
The man who had conquered the seas.
The idea that someone like that could die felt unreal—and yet, the unease in the air was unmistakable. It wasn't relief people felt.
It was anticipation.
Fear.
Excitement.
That night, Ryu returned to the pier alone.
The moon reflected off the water, stretching a broken silver path across the sea. He cleaned his wound carefully, fingers steady despite the ache.
"Who am I really?" he asked the night.
No answer came.
But something inside him stirred again.
Not ambition.
Not power.
Awareness.
Quiet. Untrained. Waiting.
Ryu clenched his fists.
"I won't freeze again," he said softly. "No matter what this world turns into."
The waves rolled in, indifferent.
Beyond the horizon, the Great Pirate Era had begun.
And Ryu was standing at its edge.