"Zo—Zoro…?!"
Shimotsuki Koshirō froze for a beat when his eyes landed on Zoro. Then he understood — the restraints, the seastone manacles, the way the boy sagged in Grimmjow's grip. Everything made the truth plain.
"Shimotsuki Koshirō," Adrian said coldly, "you can see your student's state for yourself. His life is in my hands. How much ransom will you pay to take him back?"
Zoro wanted the ground to swallow him. Embarrassment burned in his cheeks hotter than any wound. To be captured was shame enough, but to be paraded before his master as proof and used as a bargaining chip… it was unbearable.
"Koshirō," Adrian continued without changing his expression, "you're a capable man. So tell me plainly: what will you hand over for your disciple's life?"
The old master's brows knitted. One instinct told him to rush forward and snatch Zoro free — but another, harsher truth held him back. If he struck and failed to free the boy immediately, the kidnappers could slit Zoro's throat on the spot. The risk was real. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, then relaxed. He had to choose carefully.
"You're a strong man, sir," Koshirō said finally, voice steady but laced with disapproval. "To extort like this… it's beneath a warrior."
Adrian shrugged. "Funny — 'beneath' is kind of my brand. I'm a bandit. Dishonorable is in the job description. Besides, if it earns me more, I don't see the harm."
Koshirō had seen many kinds of people, but few like this. Bold, shameless, absurdly frank. Still, his pupil was tied and in danger. That overrode pride.
"And what do you want?" Koshirō asked, forcing himself to be pragmatic.
Adrian named his price: hand over the training manuals for Observation Haki and Armament Haki — and a swordsmanship manual. Not base pamphlets, but real, high-quality guides. His tone left no room for cheap tricks.
Koshirō's eyes flickered with surprise. The man knew the Shimotsuki clan and their legacy. He nodded without hesitation. Those manuals — and whatever notes the old master would add — were not trivial objects in a swordsman's household. If the man wanted them, Koshirō would give them.
"Very well," Koshirō said. He turned, went into the dojo, and returned with a wooden box. Inside were several well-used tomes: a pair of Haki manuals, a swordsman's treatise, and Koshirō's own annotations.
Adrian flipped through them casually. The characters were legible; the methods described were solid. He didn't bother to inspect them with the fuss a true scholar would; if they were counterfeit, the system would tell him. If they weren't, then they would help his crew grow stronger — and that was what mattered.
Adrian closed the box and dropped it into his system-space. Then, in a theatrical move, Grimmjow tossed Zoro at Koshirō's feet. The young swordsman hit the ground hard, face buried in the dust.
"You've got a good teacher," Adrian said with a smirk. "Count yourself lucky you're walking away with your life. If you want your pride back, come and take it — but bring something worth taking."
Zoro's chest burned. Watching his master see him like this stung deeper than any punch. He scrambled to his knees and, when he remembered, demanded the one thing that symbolized his vow and identity.
"Hey — that Wadō Ichimonji! Give it back!"
Adrian leisurely produced the sword from his system-space as if showing off a trinket. "Oh? This sword? Too bad — it's my spoils now. If you want it back, come and claim it when you've got the strength to take it."
The words pierced Zoro like a blade. He roared, voice raw: "You hear me? I, Roronoa Zoro, will take Wadō Ichimonji back from you!"
"Fine by me," Adrian said, amused. "I'll be waiting."
Then he and Grimmjow turned and walked away.
Left alone on the dojo floor, handcuffed and humiliated, Zoro bowed his head and, for the first time in a long while, felt tears well up.
"Master… I lost Wadō Ichimonji. I'm sorry…" he choked.
Koshirō helped him up gently. "Zoro," he said, voice soft with an old man's sorrow, "you promised to carry that blade's name. You will take it back. For now, let me teach you."
The old man's words cut through the shame. Koshirō would not berate him. Instead he would train him harder. That faith kindled something in Zoro's chest — anger, yes, but a sharper fuel: determination.
"I'll get it back," Zoro whispered, choking on the pledge. "I'll become strong enough to take it from him."
Koshirō's hand rested on Zoro's shoulder. "Rise, Zoro. We begin at once."
…
On the shore, Adrian and Grimmjow walked with easy steps. The day's haul satisfied them: useful manuals, the sword as spoil, and the pride of having shaken a village.
Inside Adrian's head, the system chimed and delivered its judgment.
Ding! Bandit operation complete!
Ding! Calculating bandit event…
Ding! Target strength level: Nation-Destroying
Ding! Item quality obtained: Nation-Destroying
Ding! Future notoriety level: Village
Ding! Future influence level: Village
Ding! Calculation complete. Event rating: S+.
Ding! Reward: 10.0000 Reputation Points!
Ding! Extra reward: S-Rank Random Item Ticket ×1!
Adrian's grin broadened. The system's new scoring rules were harsher, but this run still earned a solid S+ — and a nice payout. The manuals' value had been rated ridiculously high: their item grade matched the target's strength. For Adrian, reputation turned into options, and options meant leverage.
"Good," he said, pulling the S-rank item ticket from his pocket. "Let's see what we get."
He used the ticket. Points of light spun, then congealed.
Ding! S-Rank Random Item Ticket used successfully.
Ding! Congratulations, Host — obtained: One-Time Random Past Spell…
The item's name hung in the air, unfinished and uncanny, as if the system had drifted into a half-remembered file. Adrian chuckled — whether luck or a bug, it was a prize. He pocketed the new acquisition and signaled the fleet to set sail.
Zoro watched them go. His humiliation burned, but beneath it, a cold fire had been struck. He would train. He would grow until the day he could wrench his sword from Adrian's hand and carve his name back into the world.
And somewhere out at sea, the bandit ships disappeared into the horizon — carrying spoils, score, and the echo of a vow that would shape the days to come.
…
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