Inside the cabin.
This wasn't Ryan's room—it was Mikita's. After all, Perona was resting in Ryan's room, and it wouldn't be right to disturb her. More importantly, he didn't want Perona interrupting the little game he was playing with Hancock.
At the moment, Ryan was eyeing Hancock with great interest. Her tall frame was nearly level with his own, her hands cuffed in front of her with Seastone shackles, yet her posture remained rigidly upright, not losing an ounce of the imposing aura befitting a powerhouse.
Her jet-black hair was styled in the classic Hime Cut, the front locks neatly framing her forehead. The golden serpent-shaped earrings beneath her ears swayed slightly with her ragged breathing. The corners of her eyes, usually sharp with cold arrogance and detachment, now trembled faintly with tension, her pupils quivering. Her lower lip was red from being bitten.
This was unmistakable panic, forcibly suppressed. In her disheveled state, it clashed with the innate haughtiness of the Pirate Empress, creating a pitiful yet stubbornly defiant beauty—a contradiction that was utterly captivating.
"Y-You… how did you know… about… that…" Hancock squirmed under his shameless gaze, clenching her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. The pain helped her force some semblance of composure, but even so, the words stuck in her throat, refusing to come out.
Ryan understood immediately. He took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them until their breaths mingled. Then, he lifted a hand to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Are you asking how I know about the 'Hoof of the Flying Dragon' on your back?"
His index finger traced the smooth curve of her jaw, admiring the face that could enchant the world, watching the flicker of hatred in those deep blue eyes. His lips curled into an amused smirk as he deliberately slowed his speech.
Hancock stiffened at the touch, revolted by the man's proximity and the nauseating scent clinging to him. If not for the Seastone cuffs, she would have long since swatted away this insolent hand and turned the disrespectful bastard to stone.
But before she could even muster a glare, Ryan's words sent her head snapping up, her pupils dilating with shock.
He really knows!
Her breathing hitched. She opened her mouth to deny it, to refute him—but no sound came out.
"I guessed," Ryan said, relishing her loss of composure.
This was Boa Hancock, the "Pirate Empress," a woman whose mere glance could bring men to their knees. Even when lightning pierced her shoulder or Seastone bound her hands, she had remained aloof, untouchable.
But now?
A single sentence had shattered the lofty Empress, reducing her to a panicking captive. The disbelief in her eyes, her ragged, trembling breaths, the flustered expression on that bewitching face—the sheer contrast of this "iceberg cracking" was exhilarating.
"Impossible!" Hancock's voice cracked with strain, her deep blue eyes blazing with fury—and fear. Her chest heaved violently, her breath coming in uneven gasps.
There was no way he could have guessed. Only a handful of people knew about this, and she trusted them with her life. They would never betray her.
Was he a witness from Mary Geoise back then?
Or—a chilling thought seized her. She stared at Ryan, her voice shaking as she demanded, "Are… are you connected to the Celestial Dragons?!"
The moment the words left her lips, her heart clenched. The amused smirk on Ryan's lips, the undisguised hunger in his eyes—it all felt horribly familiar.
That was the arrogance of the Celestial Dragons, who treated lives like weeds. The same cruelty that delighted in tormenting others. Even the aura he exuded was identical—that same nauseating blend of oiliness and malice.
The realization made her tremble violently. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor with a dull thud, the Seastone cuffs clattering against the wood.
The Pirate Empress's greatest fear—was the Celestial Dragons.
Ryan blinked at her sudden collapse. Knees drawn up, fists clenched, her eyes brimming with despair—he hadn't expected her to link him to the Celestial Dragons so directly.
But thinking about it, it wasn't entirely unreasonable.
The Celestial Dragons were, in essence, the "nobility" of this world. In his past life, hadn't there been equivalents? Those in power who disregarded rules, who trampled on others' dignity for amusement.
In that sense, Hancock's assumption wasn't entirely off the mark. After all, no matter the world, those who reveled in control were fundamentally the same.
Ryan crouched down, meeting her at eye level. He lifted her chin again, noting the pallor of her face, the way her pupils had contracted to pinpricks. She didn't even have the strength to turn away, reduced to numb submission.
The sight made him frown. His hand trailed down her neck, and he felt her body tense instantly.
"Don't be so stiff," Ryan murmured, his lips quirking. Then, with a sudden jerk—
Rip!
Hancock's cloak and dress tore apart, the fabric scattering across the floor. Freed from the constraints of clothing, her figure was sleek and proud, the curve of her shoulders and neck so regal it commanded respect.
This was the true form of the Pirate Empress.
But that pride lasted mere seconds. Hancock snapped back to reality—not with anger, but sheer terror. Instinctively, she tried to curl in on herself, to hide her exposed back—only for Ryan to seize her wrists and pin her to the cold floor.
"No! Stop!" She thrashed wildly, her cheek pressed against the rough wood, panic overwhelming her. But his grip was ironclad, rendering her struggles futile.
Ryan ignored her pleas. His gaze settled on her back, where the "Hoof of the Flying Dragon" marred the otherwise flawless skin. The grotesque brand covered nearly a third of her back, a glaring scar on her pale flesh.
"Tsk, tsk. Such a beautiful back, ruined by this ugly mark," Ryan mused, running a finger over the scar with mocking pity.
Hancock froze. Even her trembling ceased, leaving only silent, shuddering breaths. Then—
Tears splashed onto the floor.
She wrenched her head up, screaming, "Are you a devil?!"
This wasn't just some "blemish." This was proof of her enslavement, of the humiliation carved into her bones. A past she had spent her entire life trying to erase.
And this man—he didn't understand. Didn't understand the darkness behind that mark. To him, it was just another toy to poke at, to casually dismiss as "ruining the aesthetics."
"A devil?" Ryan chuckled darkly, leaning in until his breath ghosted over her ear. "If I'm a devil, then what does that make you? Some pure, blameless angel?"
He had never claimed to be a good person. Being called a devil meant nothing to him. But Hancock was no saint either. She treated lives as disposable, her self-centered nature bordering on monstrous.
Her beauty and that ridiculous "love-struck" persona were the only reasons she was so popular.
And let's not forget—she had started this fight. If not for the Seven Star Sword's Lightning-Lightning Fruit granting him unmatched speed, Ryan would've been turned to stone at the bottom of the ocean.
Expecting mercy from someone who had tried to kill him? Laughable. Ryan wasn't the type to indulge such nonsense.
Hancock prided herself on that "Empress" arrogance, didn't she? Believed no one would dare defy her? Well, he'd tear that pride apart piece by piece, drag her down from the clouds into the mud.
Only then would his anger be sated. Only then would this conceited woman learn—not everyone bowed to the "World's Most Beautiful Woman."
Hancock's breath hitched. Even her trembling stopped. She wanted to retort, but her lips only quivered before she bit down hard. The last remnants of her forced composure shattered, leaving only overwhelming shame and terror. Tears streamed down her face.
Ryan watched, unimpressed. The Pirate Empress wore her "aloofness" like armor, pretending nothing could touch her. But beneath that shell was nothing but fragility. The moment her wounds were prodded, she crumbled.
In short—strong in appearance, weak in reality.
But that wasn't his problem. He wasn't here to pity her. Her pain, her humiliation—she'd brought it upon herself. She hadn't considered the consequences when she attacked him.
On the seas, debts were always repaid.
Ryan's gaze swept over her curled form, the slight tremors of her shoulders as she wept. A wicked grin curled his lips as he leaned in again, his voice dripping with malice.
"Since you called me a devil… how about I, the devil, give the esteemed Empress a proper 'welcome'?"
Hancock's tears surged anew—this time, with a sob of utter despair. She bit her lip bloody, trying desperately to cling to the last shreds of her dignity. But under Ryan's merciless gaze, even that crumbled to dust, leaving only helpless fear.
This feeling—it was so much like Mary Geoise.
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