CHAPTER 484: CHAPTER 484

"Hello, Dadan-san...! Long time no see," I called out casually, stepping forward from the wooden pier.

The tension in the air, thick and taut like a bowstring drawn too long, seemed to loosen at my voice. The bandit leader — rough and gruff but loyal in her own chaotic way — looked up sharply.

The gathered mob, who only moments ago were bracing themselves for an unknown threat, hesitated. The villagers of Foosha, unlike the strangers on the ship, recognized me. Familiarity sparked in their eyes, and the anxiety in their shoulders melted ever so slightly.

I walked with measured steps towards the gathered defenders. Behind me, Kuina and Zoro flanked either side — two young blades honed under unforgiving discipline. They moved like coiled springs, quiet but observant, their sharp eyes flickering between the villagers and the pirate ship anchored just off the coast. Even at their age, they could instinctively sense the divide: the immense chasm between power and desperation.

The red-haired man on the ship — Shanks — was strong. Inhumanly so. These villagers? These bandits? They were brave, perhaps. But courage alone could not level the ground they stood on. Kuina and Zoro both knew this.

They had been forged in fire, and could already tell that, if need be, they could hold their own against these would-be defenders — if not yet Shanks, then certainly the men behind the trees, clutching weapons with trembling hands.

"Ross-kun... is that really you?"

Dadan’s voice cracked through her surprise as she lowered her spiked mace and stepped forward. Her eyes narrowed toward the ship.

"Are those guys with you?" she asked warily.

"Not with me," I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "But they’re not here to cause trouble either. Garp-san knows them... so I’d say it’s safe to relax."

That was all it took. Dadan exhaled, the grip on her weapon loosening. She gave a sharp whistle and waved her hand, signaling to the bandits hidden in the undergrowth. One by one, reluctant but obedient, they retreated. If I said it was alright, then it was. Dadan didn’t trust easily — but she trusted me. Because Garp did. And Garp’s trust was worth more than gold in these parts.

She turned to the villagers and nodded. The mayor gave a slow, approving gesture. After all, Foosha was a village shaped by the sea. Pirates, marines, traders — they came and went. As long as peace remained undisturbed, the village would welcome even devils in human form.

And then, in a blur of movement, he arrived. Shanks.

He used Soru — the swift step of the Rokushiki technique — and landed gracefully beside me on the wooden pier. His presence hit like a wave: sudden, powerful, but not hostile. The villagers flinched, some instinctively reaching for tools or weapons. But they stopped themselves. They looked to me. I nodded once. That was enough.

"Young lad," Dadan addressed Shanks directly, her tone wary but not hostile. "Ross here says Garp knows you. And if this kid vouches for you, then... as long as you don’t cause any trouble, you’re welcome in Foosha Village."

She turned to the mayor again, who gave his approval with a subtle nod. These people had seen enough over the years to know that some pirates didn’t come to pillage. Some came to rest. Or resupply. Or seek something else entirely.

Shanks offered a roguish grin.

"Well then, that saves me a speech," he said lightly. "We’re only here to resupply. No trouble... unless trouble comes looking for us."

His words were easy, but the underlying weight was clear. Everyone heard it. No one missed it.

He gave a signal to Benn Beckman, who stood calmly at the ship’s helm. With a wave, the Red Force slowly began to drift toward the pier, sails folding like wings as it coasted in on the wind.

Moments later, I found myself stepping into the familiar warmth of Party’s Bar. The scent of spiced rum, grilled fish, and old wood filled the air. Laughter echoed from the back, the clinking of plates and mugs resonated like music. It was home.

And then —

"BROTHER ROSS!!"

A whirlwind of energy came barreling at me from across the room. Little Ace — wild-haired, barefoot, cheeks flushed with joy — darted past stools and tables, dragging a bewildered Sabo behind him like a comet trailing a moon. His face lit up with a radiance so pure, it could melt the hardest steel.

His eyes were stars — glowing with the kind of awe reserved only for legends. To Ace, I wasn’t just Ross — I was the man Garp himself had once claimed could surpass even him. The boy had heard those stories. He’d clung to them, idolized them. And now, I stood before him — real, tangible, smiling.

He crashed into me with the unrestrained force of youthful affection, arms wrapping around my waist in a tight, enthusiastic hug. Sabo, less vocal but equally delighted, smiled as he stood beside us, eyes bright with respect and gratitude for saving him once before.

Behind the counter, Rouge-san stood — her eyes soft, her expression serene. Years had passed, but her gratitude hadn’t faded. Not in the slightest. Her polite smile held volumes of emotion. For all she had endured, for all she had lost, she found comfort in seeing those she trusted walk back through that door.

Kuina, ever perceptive, tilted her head and asked quietly, "Master... who’s this loud-mouthed kid?"

She said it with a hint of distaste, her pride as a swordswoman prickled by Ace’s brazen energy.

I chuckled, my gaze lingering on the boy whose grin could rival the sun.

"He’s someone who might become your greatest friend... or your fiercest rival — depending on the paths you each choose," I said, my voice layered with a kind of quiet mysticism.

Just as I finished exchanging pleasantries with familiar faces around Foosha Village, introducing Kuina and Zoro to the people who’d once been part of my quiet days, the door to Party’s Bar creaked open once again — this time with a heavier, more confident swing.

In stepped the Red-Haired Pirates.

At the head of the crew was Shanks himself, strolling in casually with a wide grin. But it wasn’t just his smile that disarmed the tense atmosphere. Sitting happily atop his broad shoulders, giggling with pure delight, was Uta — her little boots swinging in the air as she clutched onto Shanks’ head like a crown.

That one detail — a child riding a feared pirate’s shoulders — was all the reassurance the room needed.

The mayor and the few remaining patrons visibly relaxed, shoulders lowering, hands drifting away from hidden daggers. If a man like Shanks could be trusted with a child so full of joy, maybe he wasn’t the monster they’d feared. Maybe.

One by one, the rest of the crew followed him in. Benn Beckmann, stoic and sharp-eyed. Yasopp, with his wild grin and sharper aim. Roux, already chewing on a meat bone the size of a chair leg. And, of course, Buggy the Clown, swaggering in with a mix of bravado and annoyance, nose red and shining like a beacon of chaos.

The bar, once quiet, became full to bursting in moments. Laughter echoed, chairs scraped, mugs clinked. But not everyone stayed.

Despite Dadan’s acceptance and my reassurance, the weight of having so many pirates in one place made the common folk uneasy. Most of the villagers, after eyeing the crew warily, quietly made their excuses and left. Only Dadan and the mayor stayed behind, watching the newcomers with narrowed, calculating gazes.

Soon, the whole bar was buzzing. Platters of freshly baked pies, roasted meats, and steaming vegetables began flying out of the kitchen, accompanied by the rich scent of spiced rum and Makino’s ever-bright voice.

"Here you go, Brother Ross..." she said cheerfully, setting a gleaming bottle filled with emerald green liquid before me, along with a generous spread of hot dishes. The bottle shimmered under the light — vibrant, mysterious, dangerous.

I smiled my thanks, then turned to look at the table where the real chaos was brewing — the kids’ table.

Kuina was locked in a silent, simmering war with Ace. The cause? Little Luffy.

The toddler had toddled straight toward Kuina the moment he laid eyes on her, arms raised, face gleaming with joy. He’d climbed into her lap without hesitation — giggling and grabbing at her sword hilt with pudgy hands. Kuina, not particularly fond of children but secretly flattered, let him stay.

Ace, however, was not having it.

"Hey! He’s my little brother!" Ace declared, trying to pull Luffy back by the waist, but the toddler shrieked and clung tighter to Kuina, laughing like it was a game.

"He came to me, didn’t he?" Kuina shot back, her voice frosty. "Maybe it’s because I smell better than you. Or maybe he just knows who the stronger one is."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, HAG?!" Ace growled, his fists trembling, ready to throw down.

Sabo, caught between them, waved his hands frantically. "Okay, okay! Let’s not blow up the bar, please! Luffy’s just being Luffy — nobody can ’own’ him!"

Meanwhile, Zoro sat at the edge of the table, scowling at the cup of juice in front of him. He took a small sip, grimaced, and pushed it away like it was poison.

His eyes drifted toward the adults — toward the bottles, the frothing mugs, the laughter. The amber, clear, and green liquids they drank seemed... curious. Tempting.

He remembered all too well the last time he stole sake from the dojo. Mihawk had caught him.

He’d been strung upside down from the rafters by his ankles for hours, a bucket of cold water thrown on him every few minutes as his punishment. His ribs had still ached two days later.

With a groan, Zoro muttered to himself, "Stupid fruit juice... tastes like feet."

Uta, having spent months surrounded by rowdy adults and the rough camaraderie of pirate life, quickly gravitated toward the new group of children like a spark to dry leaves. Eager for a change of pace—and perhaps a little chaos—she wasted no time and got to know the others within the first few minutes.

With eyes gleaming mischievously and a playful grin tugging at her lips, she assessed the budding tension between Ace and Kuina with the instinct of someone who thrived on stirring the pot.

"So..." Uta said innocently, her voice lilting like a songbird’s tune as she leaned over the table.

"Is Luffy your brother, Ace? Or is he Kuina’s new little knight?"

That one question was like a lit match tossed into a powder keg.

Ace stood up so fast his chair toppled backward. "He’s MY brother!" he snapped, red in the face. "He always has been! She’s just trying to steal him!"

Kuina crossed her arms with a calm, icy smirk. "I didn’t steal anyone. Luffy came to me because he has taste."

"What did you say, sword girl?! Take it back!"

Uta giggled and clapped, clearly enjoying the fireworks.

Sabo, meanwhile, was doing his best to hold it all together, wedged between the rising fury of his hot-headed brother and the steel-willed Kuina. "Guys, come on! This is a party! Can’t we just eat pie and not start a war over a toddler?"

But his words fell on deaf ears as Ace reached to grab Luffy again, Luffy squealed and flailed, Kuina stood with her sword clanking against the table, and Uta — sweet, mischievous Uta — just watched it all unfold, sipping juice like it was the finest tea.

Back at the adults’ table, I took a sip from the green bottle Makino had served. The taste was strong, sharp, with a strange sweetness and a burning afterglow — Absinthe.

Buggy, always looking to outdo someone, snatched the bottle from me.

"What’s this fancy green piss you’re drinking, Ross?" he sneered, uncorking it. "Smells like licorice and fire."

Before I could warn him, he tilted it back and gulped. The result was instantaneous. Buggy’s face twisted as the liquid ignited down his throat like a flame-train to hell. His eyes bulged, face reddened, and then — POOF — he spat the liquid in a burning mist across the table.

"BLEAAGH!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS DEVIL JUICE?!"

A stream of Absinthe sprayed across Beckmann’s face, soaking his collar and dripping into his beard. I casually lifted a tray like a shield just in time, blocking the worst of it.

Beckmann froze, eyes twitching. Then, calmly, he pulled a rag from his pocket and began wiping his face with slow, deliberate strokes. You could feel the self-control radiating off him.

"It’s Absinthe," Beckmann muttered, voice level. "A highly alcoholic, anise-flavored spirit, derived from botanicals like wormwood. Known for its potency and... occasional hallucinations if consumed in large doses. Common among artists and lunatics. Sometimes both."

Buggy wheezed, grabbing his throat. "Artists?! That stuff tried to kill me!"

Shanks, however, wasn’t laughing.

He sat quietly, a half-empty mug in hand, but his eyes weren’t on the glass or the chaos. They were on Ace. Again and again, his gaze wandered to the boy — his posture, his voice, his eyes. Something about Ace stirred something deep in Shanks. Like a memory — hazy, tugging at the edge of his mind like a name forgotten in a dream.

There was something familiar about that boy. Something that made Shanks frown ever so slightly... and clutch his mug a little tighter.

"Something the matter...?" I asked, watching Shanks as his gaze lingered once more on the kids’ table — on Ace specifically.

It took him a moment to respond, like he was surfacing from deep waters. He finally turned to me, eyes distant but sharpening with focus.

"That kid..." he murmured, nodding toward the boy now loudly arguing with Kuina over Luffy’s allegiance. "Do you know him?"

I followed his gaze.

"Him? That’s Garp-san’s grandson," I replied casually, gesturing toward the boy with his untamed flame of hair and wild, indignant energy. "And behind the counter is Ace’s mother — that’s Agatha-san, Garp’s niece. She helps Makino now and is responsible for all this wonderful delicacies in front of us."

Shanks shifted his gaze toward the bar, where Agatha was carefully arranging a freshly baked apple pie on a serving tray, her movements practiced and precise. Noticing Shanks watching her, she gave a polite, reserved nod of acknowledgment.

She had known the moment they walked in. Her eyes, calm but full of weight, were fixed on the red-haired man and his eccentric companion with the bulbous nose and loud presence. She didn’t say a word, didn’t react outwardly — but deep within her, memories stirred like waves under moonlight.

Long ago, when the days were warmer and the seas quieter, Roger had spoken to her one night under the stars. She remembered the laughter in his voice as they curled up beneath a blanket on the porch of their modest home, his hand resting gently on her belly.

"Our kid’ll never be alone, Rouge. He’ll have big brothers in the world. A red-haired brat who never stops smiling... and a red-nosed idiot who never shuts up."

Rouge had smiled then, resting her head on his shoulder. Roger never admitted it outright, but she knew. Despite all his gruff words and carefree arrogance, Shanks and Buggy were more than apprentices. They were like sons to him — misfits who had grown on him like barnacles on the hull of a well-worn ship.

He had trusted them. He had loved them. And now, here they were—unknowingly seated just a few feet away from the last light of Roger’s legacy.

Shanks took another glance at Ace, his expression unreadable, shadowed by something more than mere curiosity.

"Garp’s grandson, huh..." he muttered, the name tasting strange on his tongue. There was a weight behind it — not just the Marine hero’s legacy, but something... older. Something that tugged at the edge of recognition with every laugh, every shout from the boy.

Ace’s voice, full of that unrestrained chime of mock anger, rang out again across the room as he wrestled with Kuina for Luffy’s attention. That sound — it tugged at Shanks, somewhere deep in the chest, like an echo from another life. I narrowed my eyes, reading him.

"Why? Is there a problem?" I asked quietly, knowing full well that people like us — those who’d walked the bloodstained deck of fate long enough — sometimes felt things long before we understood them.

Shanks didn’t answer right away. He took a long pull from his mug, then finished it in a single, practiced motion. Setting the empty vessel down, he leaned back in his chair and gave a small, distant chuckle.

"No problem... He just seems... familiar, is all. Like someone I used to know. Or maybe someone I should’ve."

He didn’t elaborate — didn’t need to. The air itself seemed to hold the rest of the sentence.

That laugh. That look in his eyes. That fire. Before I could say more, Lucky Roux piped up, voice muffled by the entire apple pie he was trying to shove into his mouth.

"Maybe you just got beat up by the Marine Hero so many times it left a lingering trauma, Captain. Now you are even feeling uneasy around his grandson..."

Laughter erupted around the table — Buggy cackled loudly, Yasopp slapped his knee, and Beckmann just shook his head with a faint smirk. Shanks chuckled too — but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

As the sounds of merriment swirled around us, and the firelight flickered against the bar’s walls, I couldn’t help but glance again at Rouge — who had gone back to cleaning the counter, her hands steady, her eyes misted with unspoken memory.

And I thought to myself, the past never really leaves us. It just waits — in faces, in laughter, in the children we leave behind. And sometimes... it walks through the door right alongside us.

"No wonder you jumped ahead..."

A cold, irritated voice rang out from the bar’s entrance, sharp as a drawn blade.

"Here you are enjoying yourself, while I’m left tending the ship alone."

Heads turned as Dracule Mihawk stepped into the bar, cloak billowing slightly with the breeze behind him. His golden eyes scanned the room with quiet confidence, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere like a sudden stormcloud. A few of the Red-Haired Pirates froze mid-bite.

Even Buggy stopped chewing. And me? I scratched the back of my head sheepishly.

"Oh... right. You."

I had completely forgotten I told him I’d scout ahead. In truth, I got swept up in food, old friends, and the ridiculous antics of children fighting over Luffy like a teddy bear.

Mihawk’s gaze swept across the room like a hawk in flight — lingering for a single heartbeat on Rouge, who coolly returned the look without blinking — then settling on the table where Shanks, Beckmann, Lucky Roux, and I sat. With his usual silence and complete disregard for pleasantries, Mihawk pulled out a chair and sat beside me, Yoru gently clinking against the wood.

He didn’t ask permission. Because he didn’t need to.

"Makino chan," I called cheerfully, grinning wide as I waved toward the stunned barmaid.

"Bring out the finest bottle of wine you’ve got in stock... The red-haired guy’s paying."

Makino blinked, eyes flickering between me and Mihawk, then to Shanks — who was frozen, mug halfway to his mouth, looking like he’d just been stabbed in the wallet.

"R-Right away..." she stammered, before vanishing behind the counter like a deer fleeing into the forest.

Across the table, Shanks stared at me. Just stared.

"When... did I agree to this?" he asked, slowly, voice trembling with financial dread.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy tearing a generous chunk from a roasted lamb shank, juices dribbling down my chin as I chewed with the hunger of a beast freshly released from prison.

"You’re one of the up and coming pirate crews on the seas, aren’t you?" I said between bites, waving the bone at him like a baton. "Consider this... tribute. Or reparations. Or hospitality tax."

Shanks, meanwhile, was dying inside. He slumped back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling like it might show him a vision of how much this was going to cost. Beckmann chuckled under his breath, lighting a cigar. Lucky Roux was already on his fourth plate.

Buggy laughed loudly — until he realized he wasn’t getting a free drink and sulked immediately after.

"You know," Shanks muttered, voice full of betrayal, "this island was supposed to be a quiet stop. A small resupply. Maybe a bit of rum and possibly a future supply station. Now it’s turning into a full banquet hosted by the King of Gluttons himself."

I raised my glass — filled not with sake, but a bright green absinthe cocktail that Buggy had earlier spat across half the crew — and grinned.

"To friendship."

Makino returned with a dusty bottle of deep red wine, clearly expensive. She set it gently on the table with reverence — and a tinge of fear — before hurrying off again, stealing another glance at Mihawk, who hadn’t said a word since sitting down.

He picked up the bottle, swirled it slightly, sniffed it once, and nodded with faint approval.

"Acceptable."

Shanks just groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"This is going to bankrupt me... We’re feeding a monster, a swordsman, and a walking pie disposal unit..."

I smirked, tearing into another plate as more food began to arrive. Meat, pies, grilled fish, stacks of dumplings, and things I hadn’t even ordered but Makino brought anyway — likely hoping to get rid of inventory before I decided to devour the furniture.

Foosha Village locals, watching through the windows, whispered in awe. They knew what was coming. They’d seen me eat before. They remembered.

Some were already placing bets on whether the Red-Haired Pirates would have any treasure left by sunrise. As the laughter, clinking of glasses, and chaotic bickering resumed around the table, Shanks leaned toward Beckmann and whispered, devastated.

"This is what hell looks like, isn’t it?"

Beckmann just grinned, exhaling smoke.

"No, Captain... This is just the kind of banquet that you always wanted to throw... I hope this teaches you about how I feel when you always call for a banquet out of the blue.."