Chapter 17: The Return of the Red-Hairs
Several more days passed. The beach was clean, the pirate ship stripped and scuttled far from shore. To Satoru's quiet relief, the villagers' attitude toward him hadn't changed at all. If anything, they were a little more protective, a little quicker to offer him an extra serving of food or a pat on the head. There was no fear, no estrangement. Only the familiar warmth of home. It settled something in him, a tension he hadn't fully acknowledged.
Out at sea, nearing the familiar coastline, a lookout on the Red Force gasped.
"Captain! There's a ship! A different pirate ship, beached near the island!"
A cold dread settled over the crew. They didn't want to sail back to find a village in ruins, bodies of people they'd laughed with strewn about.
"I'll go ahead! Full speed, follow me!" Shanks ordered, his usual levity gone. Without waiting, he leapt from the railing. His feet didn't hit the water; they kicked against the air itself in rapid succession—a movement akin to the Marine's Moon Walk—propelling him like a shot toward the island.
"We're picking up the pace!" Benn Beckman barked, his face grim.
"Aye!"
Even without the order, they were already scrambling. Windmill Village wasn't just a port of call anymore. The people there were friends. They'd become family. The thought of finding familiar faces among the dead was unbearable.
As Shanks entered the range of his Observation Haki, he poured all his focus into it, scanning the island with frantic intensity. A moment later, the breath he didn't know he was holding rushed out. The life signatures he knew—the Mayor's steady pulse, Makino's gentle flicker, Luffy's bright, chaotic spark, Satoru's unique, calm ember—were all there. Alive.
They're okay.
"Are you back?"
Satoru, taking a rare break from training, felt the distinct, probing pressure of a powerful Observation Haki brush over him. It could only be one person.
Shanks first landed on the abandoned pirate vessel. It had been picked clean, a hollow carcass. Looted, he noted. By the villagers, no doubt. Desperate people, or clever ones, would take what they could from invaders.
He examined the beach more closely. Though cleaned, signs remained for a trained eye: patches of sand a shade darker, the faint, unsettling outline of a shallow, large grave near the treeline, a single, overlooked scrap of bloodied cloth caught on a root.
"There was a fight here... Satoru... was it you?"
Soon, the Red Force glided in and anchored. The crew poured onto the beach, their worry palpable.
"Is everyone alright? What happened?" Lucky Roux called out, his eyes darting around.
"You're stepping on a fresh burial ground," Shanks said bluntly, but his tone was light with relief. "But the villagers are fine. It seems Satoru took care of the problem."
"Satoru? That little guy?" Yasopp asked, disbelief warring with concern.
"Let's go ask the village," Benn suggested. "I'm sure they've missed our business."
Reassured, Shanks let his usual easygoing mask slip back into place. They headed into the village.
"Shanks! You're back!"
The cry went up as villagers spotted them. Faces lit with genuine surprise and pleasure. They'd thought the Red-Hairs were gone for good.
"Yeah, missed you all too much!" Shanks laughed, embracing the Mayor. "But we saw a strange ship out there. What happened?"
"Oh, that," the Mayor said, his expression turning serious. He then proceeded to tell the tale—the sudden arrival of the slaver pirates, Satoru going to the beach alone, and the grim, silent cleanup that followed.
As the story unfolded, the expressions on the Red-Haired Pirates' faces shifted from concern to sheer, stunned disbelief.
Shanks had suspected, but hearing it confirmed was different. His crewmates, who had been skeptical, now wore looks of profound shock.
"Incredible... what was I doing at eight?" one pirate muttered.
"I was probably still wetting the bed," another groaned.
"And he was wiping out a crew..."
"Two arms, two legs, same species... how's the difference this vast?"
"It's just not fair. Some people are just built different."
A wave of collective, humbled depression washed over the crew. Even Shanks felt it. He'd been on the Oro Jackson at that age, but he hadn't possessed that kind of solitary, devastating power. These were grown men, armed and desperate, erased by a child.
"Shanks! You're back!"
A familiar, energetic voice cut through the somber mood. Luffy came barreling toward them, a wide grin on his face. He skidded to a stop, his head swiveling as he scanned the group.
"Shanks! Where's Uta?"
The question, so innocent and expected, landed like a physical blow. Every member of the Red-Haired crew stiffened. The easy atmosphere shattered.
Shanks's smile became strained, a fragile thing. He crouched down to Luffy's level.
"Uta... found a place she wanted to stay. So she didn't come back with us this time."
He kept his voice gentle, but the finality in it was unmistakable.
"Ah?" Luffy's face scrunched in confusion, his trusting eyes searching Shanks's for a joke that wasn't there. "What do you mean?"
"We have to respect what people choose for themselves, right, Luffy?" Shanks said, ruffling the boy's hair, a gesture meant to comfort but which now felt hollow.
The logic didn't compute for Luffy. His bottom lip began to tremble. The confusion in his eyes melted into a hurt so raw it was painful to see.
"Damn it, Shanks!" Luffy shouted, his voice cracking. "You lost Uta!"
Then, before the tears could fully fall, he turned and ran, a small figure fleeing back toward the village, leaving behind a silence heavier than any recounting of battle.
(End of Chapter)
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