Chapter 9 – A Meeting of Two Generations (Year 1507)

The morning sun pierced through thin clouds, bathing Mad Hat's harbor in golden light a stark contrast to the city's grim reputation. Amid the salty scent of the sea and the tang of old iron, a massive ship docked in silence. No cannon fire, no shouting. Yet its presence tightened the very air of the port.

The ship was grand, well-maintained, and bore a crimson flag emblazoned with a bearded skull an emblem even the most brutal criminals of Mad Hat dared not take lightly. From behind windows and door cracks, the townsfolk peeked out, unable to hide their fear.

On the pier, Bastien stood firm. His posture was straight, his jaw clenched. Before him, three men walked casually down the ship's ramp, yet their steps were like spears piercing the air.

Shanks. Yassop. Ben Beckman.

Three names Bastien had only heard in legendary tales. Now, they were real standing right in front of him.

"So you're his student?" Shanks asked, his voice casual but deep, tousling his wild red hair.

"Adopted son," Bastien replied neutrally, trying not to falter.

Yassop laughed, loud and free. "He's like Lazhar when he was young. Cold and way too serious."

Ben Beckman didn't laugh. He just watched Bastien through a swirl of cigar smoke. His eyes were sharp, unforgiving. Bastien felt a pressure in his chest, as if facing a test that had no instructions.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the direction of the shop. Gerald Lazhar emerged, draped in a worn black cloak, his face calm, but his eyes alert.

"Shanks. Ben. Yassop," he greeted, his voice raspy yet firm.

Shanks stepped forward and gave him a brief hug. "Still alive, Old Man. The world thought you were dead."

Lazhar gave a faint smile. "That was the idea."

Bastien watched them, stunned. It was hard to believe the old man he knew as a humble blacksmith had been mourned by the pirate world as a fallen legend and now greeted like family by the most promising pirate crew of this era.

Inside the shop's cramped, messy dining room, the reunion continued.

Shanks effortlessly filled the room with laughter and stories of the past. Yassop teased Arthur, who had suddenly appeared, trying to look cool in front of such famed guests.

Bastien stayed silent. But his eyes kept drifting to one man Ben Beckman. He was different. Quieter, deeper. And clearly, far more dangerous.

Ben finally spoke when the atmosphere began to settle. "There's something interesting about this kid."

All eyes turned to him.

"You're far too alert for someone your age," Ben said, looking at Bastien. "You've mapped all exits. Noted weapon placements. You listen without appearing to listen."

Bastien said nothing. He hadn't even realized he was doing all that… but it was true.

"Reflexes like that aren't natural. They're either trained or born from something deeper."

Gerald cut in. "He's been like that since he was little. There's something in him… that senses before it sees."

Ben nodded slowly. "That's not just intuition. That's the seed of Observation Haki. And this boy… he's already using it."

The room went silent. Even Yassop stopped chewing. Arthur, sitting on the floor, turned his head, jaw slack.

Bastien took a deep breath. "Sometimes I feel like something's about to happen. Like… a beat you can't hear, but can feel."

"That kind of instinct," Ben said, "if sharpened, can become eyes that never sleep."

Training began that afternoon.

Not physical. Not swordplay. Just sitting cross-legged in an old warehouse, under dim light.

"Close your eyes," Ben said. "Don't listen for sound. Feel intention."

Bastien steadied his breath. The world seemed to melt into silence. But beneath it, something began to emerge—like faint ripples dancing in the air.

He could sense Arthur outside the room, restless. Lazhar's heavy steps on the upper floor. And… Ben Beckman. Three steps ahead of him. Silent, but watching him intently.

Bastien opened his eyes. "I can feel it," he whispered.

Ben nodded, satisfied. "That's the beginning. But your journey is still long."

---

That night, Bastien sat on the shop's rooftop, gazing at the stars. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and blood. The world was still cruel. But now… he was beginning to see a path.

"There's a lot you can learn from them," Lazhar said, appearing beside him without a sound.

Bastien turned. "Were you like them once?"

Gerald gave a faint smile. "No. I was… darker than them. But I chose to stop before I drowned."

Bastien nodded. "I want to be strong."

"You will. But don't become like them. Be your own man."

He looked up at the sky again, then murmured, "I thought they were unbeatable."

Lazhar chuckled softly, his voice weary. "No one really is. Everyone has their limits."

In the distance, the lights of Mad Hat flickered like falling stars. And beyond them, the shadow of Rick Blacknose still lurked waiting for the perfect moment to strike.