Aren took a deep swig. The harsh liquid burned its way down his throat, driving out the stiffness in his body.
He did not look back, and he certainly did not tempt fate by probing with his senses. Instead, he quickened his pace and vanished into the night as fast as he could.
...
In the tearoom of Isshin Dojo, Koushirou had not gone to rest.
It was as if he had expected visitors. Three teacups were already set out on the low table.
"You are here."
He watched the three cloaked figures slide the door open and enter. The familiar mild smile was still on his face.
"Shiha! Koushirou, this place is as quiet as ever!"
The man with the huge face yanked off his cloak without ceremony, revealing that unforgettable look. It was none other than the queen of Kamabakka, Emporio Ivankov.
He flopped down onto the tatami and slapped the table with a loud thump.
"Do not just drink tea. I remember you have a good jar of wine stashed away, right? You did not let me drink it last time. This time you had better bring it out for an old friend!"
Dragon removed his cloak and sat opposite Koushirou. He did not speak, but his eyes drifted toward the wine rack in the corner.
Koushirou lifted the teapot and poured slowly, his tone carrying a hint of apology.
"Unfortunately, that wine was given away half an hour ago."
"What?!"
Ivankov's eyes bulged.
"You stingy miser. You never even drink it yourself, and you actually gave it away? To who? Do not tell me that old bastard Garp came by again."
"Not Garp."
Koushirou set the pot down and glanced toward the cracked stone in the courtyard. His gaze darkened slightly.
"To a passing boy."
"A boy?"
Dragon finally spoke. His voice was deep and heavy.
"Carrying a wooden sword, wearing gray cloth clothes?"
Koushirou looked at him with mild surprise.
"You met him?"
"We passed each other on the street."
Dragon lifted his cup and rubbed the rim with his fingertips, recalling that cool, indifferent look in the boy's eyes.
"He is a good seedling. His breathing... is unusual. Is he a new disciple of yours?"
"Not a disciple."
Koushirou shook his head with a wry smile.
"I wanted him to stay and serve as an instructor here at the dojo, but his heart is not set on this place. That jar of wine, he won it. As for this Wado Ichimonji, I am only keeping it for him for the moment."
"What...?"
Even Dragon's hand froze for a second.
The ancestral blade of the Shimotsuki family, entrusted to an outsider?
"That boy... did he just display some extraordinary swordsmanship?" Dragon asked quietly. In his mind, he replayed the sharpness that had lingered in the air. That was not something an ordinary swordsman could leave behind.
"He glanced once, and learned the breath that can cut steel," Koushirou said, his words striking like a pebble dropped in still water. There was real emotion in his voice. "He said a bird raised in a cage will never grow wings for high skies. He not only refused to stay here..."
"What else?" Ivankov leaned forward, curiosity hooked.
"He gave a little guidance to Zoro before leaving, and with a dead twig, he cut open that stone in the courtyard."
The tearoom fell into a brief silence.
Dragon turned his head toward the open door, looking out at the pitch-black sky. His gaze followed the direction Aren had taken.
"Interesting. In this era, someone with that level of talent who refuses to serve any side, wandering alone on the sea."
Dragon slowly put his teacup down and murmured under his breath.
...
Aren leaned back on a sturdy tree branch, on a rise not far from Isshin Dojo. From here, he could see most of Shimotsuki Village spread out beneath him. It was a good spot for drinking alone.
He popped the crude stopper out of the wine flask and took a long pull.
The cheap village brew worth two hundred Beli hit his tongue like a blade. It burned down his throat and into his stomach, like swallowing a piece of red-hot iron. There was none of the mellow richness of the fine wines from his previous life, but in the cool sea breeze, its rough strength felt just right.
"Ha..."
Aren exhaled, the sharp alcohol finally washing away the tension from all that pretending.
He swirled the light flask in his hand, his gaze wandering lazily over the scattered lights of the village below.
The reason he had rushed off so quickly was simple. He wanted to find a quiet place, calm his empty stomach, and settle the way his heart had been racing after brushing past such monsters.
Right then, a faint but distinct ripple of energy entered the range of his senses.
He had not deliberately stretched his perception, but with Observation Haki and chakra sensitivity active, any anomaly around him stood out like ink dropped on white paper.
His fingers tightened slightly around the flask, his eyes drifting almost on instinct toward Isshin Dojo at the foot of the slope.
Those three powerful auras, after turning the corner, had gone straight through the dojo gate and stopped in a room lit by warm yellow light.
The tearoom.
"So they are old acquaintances..."
Aren arched a brow. In his mind, he tied together the tattooed man he had just seen and that perpetually smiling sword instructor, Koushirou.
One was the world's most wanted criminal, leader of the Revolutionary Army.
The other was a "retired" swordmaster living quietly in a backwater East Blue village.
To an ordinary person, that combination would be enough to make their jaw drop. To Aren, who knew where this story was headed, the pieces slotted into place almost at once.
No wonder Koushirou treated Wado Ichimonji like something precious yet easily given. No wonder he had raised a monster like Zoro and remained so hung up on Kuina's gender.
A man who could make Dragon pay him a visit in the dead of night was never going to be just a simple village teacher.
The night wind whispered through the treetops, rustling the leaves.
Down below, in that tearoom, they were likely discussing something that could nudge the world's future off its current course. Up on the slope outside, Aren pulled his eyes away, interest already fading.
In a world full of monsters, knowing too much was a good way to die early.
"If they are catching up as old friends, that has nothing to do with a passerby like me."
The first round of drinks was over. It was time to move on.
Aren shrugged, tilted his head back, and drained the last drop of cheap liquor. He hooked the empty flask onto a branch.
The flask swung softly in the wind as he flipped down from the tree, landing without a sound.