Within hours of the killing of Darius the Hunchback and his entire crew, the news spread through Thorn Island like wildfire.
"Did you hear? Soone killed Darius!"
"All his n! Twenty-eight n!"
"In a restaurant! With a fork!"
"A young boy..."
Whispers filled every corner. In the taverns, in the markets, in the narrow streets. People spoke in low, frightened voices. So stared in the direction where they heard the killer had walked. Others closed their doors, afraid that the strange boy might still be nearby.
Darius was no ordinary pirate. He was one of the most famous pirates in the South Blue. His bounty was twenty-seven million beri. He was known for his cruelty, his brutality. He had co to this island a few weeks earlier and, with his strength, had established a foothold for himself.
And now, he died without a fuss. At the hands of a young man no one knew.
Pablo heard the whispers as he walked. He passed by people and saw how they stopped talking when he approached. He saw how they lowered their eyes, how they moved away from his path.
He felt sothing.
A warm feeling spread through his chest. Not superficial vanity. It was deeper than that. It was a feeling of true power. He saw the fear in their eyes. They looked at him as if he were a small god walking among them.
He liked this.
He liked how his re presence was enough to silence the street. He liked how they lowered their heads, how their steps beca quicker when he passed by them.
This was the world he wanted. A world where power is the only language. A world where no one dares to look you in the eyes.
He smiled a small smile.
"This is how it should be," he said to himself.
---
He began wandering the island with different eyes. He was no longer looking for food or shelter. He wanted to see how things were managed in these chaotic islands.
He noticed the chaos.
Thorn Island was not ruled by any authority, no navy, no single person. There was no king, no ruler, no navy. Each area was controlled by whoever had power. In one alley, he saw a group of ard n standing in front of a shop, demanding "protection money" from its owner. The man was old, his hands trembling as he counted the coins with shaking fingers.
In another street, he saw two n fighting over stolen goods. They were punching each other furiously, and people passed by them as if they didn't exist.
In the port, he saw ships anchored randomly. So flew the flags of rival gangs. Ard sailors walked with confidence, looking at everyone with contempt.
Whoever had a little power controlled an area.
"This is how they live," Pablo thought. "Chaos is their system. And power is their law."
He looked at the old man counting the coins. He was afraid, resigned, powerless.
Pablo smiled.
"This is the fate of the weak," he thought. "And this would be my fate if I don't beco stronger."
He turned his back. Continued on his way. He felt no pity. No sadness. He only felt relief that he was not like them.
---
Evening ca. The sun began to set, and the sky turned orange and red. It was ti for dinner.
Pablo entered a small restaurant in a side street.
He pushed the door. Entered.
The restaurant was small, warm, with only a few tables. There were a few custors eating and drinking quietly.
When Pablo entered, the atmosphere changed. Silence fell suddenly.
The custors looked at him. All of them. They saw his face. They saw his black clothes. They saw his calmness. They knew who he was. One of them had seen him in the other restaurant. He whispered to his companion. The word spread like fire. In seconds, everyone knew.
No one dared to look at him directly. Eyes looked at their plates, at the windows, anywhere else. No one spoke. The place beca as quiet as a graveyard.
Pablo felt the silence. Felt their fearful stares upon him.
He looked around. Found a table in the corner. Sat down. Placed his bag beside him.
The waiter was a young man in his twenties, thin, his face pale. He stood behind the counter, trembling. He didn't approach.
Pablo waited. The waiter didn't move.
He raised his hand, signaled to him.
The waiter approached with hesitant steps, as if walking on broken glass. He held the nu with shaking hands.
"W... Welco," he said in a hoarse voice. "W... What would you like?"
Pablo looked at him. Saw the fear in his eyes. Saw the trembling in his hands.
He smiled. A cold smile.
"The nu," he said in a normal voice.
The waiter gave him the nu quickly. Retreats to his counter. Stood there trembling.
Pablo looked at the nu. Ordered soup, bread, grilled at. And red wine.
The waiter took the order to the kitchen. Returned after minutes carrying the dish. Placed the food on the table quickly, bowing slightly as if placing offerings on an altar. Then he fled to his counter.
Pablo began to eat.
The food was good. The soup was warm. The at was tender.
Between one bite and another, he thought.
In this world, power is everything. Whoever has power, has the right. Whoever doesn't, has no voice. The weak live in constant fear. They fear pirates. They fear gangs. They fear anyone stronger than them.
The waiter wasn't afraid of him because he did sothing wrong. He was afraid because he was powerful. That's all.
Pablo thought. "Power is what gives you everything. Fear is the most valuable currency in this world."
He finished his al.
When he was done, he took out so coins. Placed them on the table. Then stood up.
All eyes followed him.
He walked towards the door. Did not look back.
He went out into the dark street. The air was cold. The stars were many in the sky.
He stopped for a mont. Raised his eyes to the sky.
"I will go to the Calm Belt," he said in a low voice. "I will reach the Grand Line. I will beco stronger."
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