At Foosha Village's docks, the sea breeze was a little cooler than it had been at noon.
A small wooden boat that could barely hold two or three people rose and fell gently with the waves. The hull was a bit worn, a secondhand piece that Aren had bought off a fisherman.
Shanks stood on the pier with both hands stuffed in his pockets, watching the scrawny figure hauling fresh water jugs onto the boat.
"Really sure you don't need me to give you a lift?" Shanks nudged the bollard beside him with his foot. "The waters around here haven't exactly been peaceful lately."
"The meaning of traveling lies in the unknown." Aren untied the mooring rope and leaped lightly onto the boat.
The balance that came with his All-Attribute Chakra Constitution allowed him to stand steady on the rocking deck without so much as a wobble.
He turned, raised a hand in farewell to the redhead on the pier, then grabbed the oars and began to row out toward the open sea.
Shanks watched that little boat grow smaller and smaller, the smile on his lips slowly fading.
He lifted a hand to press down the straw hat on his head, his gaze sliding past the small craft to the patch of water at the mouth of the bay where the color deepened into something unnaturally dark.
"Beckman," Shanks called without looking back.
His first mate, who had appeared behind him at some unknown point, blew out a ring of smoke and said, "Not going to give him a hand? There's a big one down there."
"No need." Shanks turned and started back toward the village, his cape billowing in the sea breeze. "If he can't clear the first hurdle of setting sail, then he's only fit to spend his life in Foosha Village."
Out on the water, Aren's little boat cleaved through the calm surface of the sea.
As the shoreline shrank behind him, the water around the boat shifted from light blue to inky navy.
An eerie stillness settled over the area. Even the cries of seabirds had faded away. Only the steady swish of oars dipping in and out of the water broke the silence.
Aren stopped rowing and narrowed his eyes slightly.
He had sensed it. Beneath this deceptively peaceful surface, a massive, malicious presence was surging upward at high speed.
Ripples spread across the water as a huge shadow swelled rapidly beneath the boat.
Heat gathered and compressed in his throat. Aren snapped forward and spat, releasing the chakra he had built up in an instant.
"Ultimate Fire Technique!"
This time, it was no practice run.
The huge ball of fire that left his lips seemed to be granted life the moment it entered the air. It twisted and stretched, transforming into a gigantic flaming serpent's head.
The air shrieked as it tore past.
The Lord of the Coast, which had just opened its gaping maw to swallow the little boat in a single bite, did not even have time to shut its jaw full of fangs before the chakra-forged flame serpent slammed straight down its throat.
There was no spray of gore, only the sharp hiss of bodily fluids being flash-boiled by extreme heat.
The Lord of the Coast's roar turned into a piercing, agonized scream.
Orange-red light shone through the gray-white skin of its belly. The enormous body was lit from within as if it had been stuffed with blazing coals.
Its gargantuan bulk skimmed past the side of the boat, the sheer mass of it heaving up a towering wave that hurled Aren's craft high into the air.
Aren's feet clung firmly to the deck. Chakra formed suction-like pads at his soles, anchoring him to the wood so that he stood as steady despite the wild bucking of the boat.
There was a thunderous crash as the monster's body slammed back into the sea. The boiling water spewed white steam skyward like a fountain.
Aren blew out a breath thick with the flavor of smoke and let himself drop onto the planks of the boat, a little limp.
That one B-rank ninjutsu had drained nearly half of his stamina.
He rubbed his burning throat and looked back toward the dock through the white mist.
As the steam thinned, the sight that emerged was almost comical. It was not only the villagers who were standing there slack-jawed. Even those mighty pirates on the pier looked ridiculous in this moment.
Shanks, the man who had just been calmly talking about "testing" him, was frozen mid-motion, one foot braced off the edge of the pier and a hand on his sword hilt. His entire body was rigid, and his straw hat was a heartbeat away from being ripped off by the wind.
"Body isn't turning into an element, but he can breathe fire out of nowhere...", he muttered.
Shanks slowly drew back the foot he had extended. The fond, senior-looking gaze he had been using vanished, replaced by the cool assessment one would give to an unexpected high power.
He fixed his eyes on Aren's back as the little boat drifted farther away, his voice low, faintly trembling.
"Beckman… if that is a Devil Fruit, with that level of destructive power and that release pattern... could it be that Logia, the Flame-Flame Fruit?"
Beckman flicked away the cigarette butt and said in a deep voice, "Can't rule it out. But there's nothing on this kid's record at all... If he really is a Logia user and has reached this level of development at ten years old, the balance of this sea might be heading for a shake-up."
…
On this sea, it was far safer to be mistaken for a Logia Devil Fruit user than to reveal the existence of some unknown power.
At least in Marine intelligence, the Flame-Flame Fruit was a known threat. Unknown things attracted far more dangerous curiosity.
Aren did not look back. With his back to the dock and the waves gradually calming around him, he slowly raised his right hand.
His thumb flicked up, then lifted higher in a clear, jaunty thumbs-up.
Seeing the gesture, Shanks blinked, then seemed to understand. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his hearty laughter once more cut through the sea breeze.
"Hahahaha! Good kid! Looks like I was worrying for nothing!"
Shanks pulled a bottle of booze from inside his coat and lifted it high, toasting the tiny dark speck receding into the distance.