The Red Force had dropped anchor at a glittering harbor city known for its music, lights, and endless night Laughter and song spilled from every doorway; the air itself seemed to pulse with rhythm Inside the grand hall of the Crimson Pearl, the crowd was already alive when the Red-Haired Pirates arrived Chandeliers shimmered above velvet curtains, and the scent of wine and sea salt hung heavy in the air.

Shanks took his usual place near the back, boots crossed, glass in hand He rarely cared for performances — he preferred sea songs and old tales — but tonight felt different.

The lights dimmed The curtain rose.

You stepped into the glow.

Every movement was precise, deliberate — a dance that mixed grace and command The crowd’s noise faded into silence You didn’t need words; your gestures spoke of confidence, strength, and control The musicians followed your rhythm as if the entire hall moved to your will.

Shanks’ easy grin softened His crew was loud and wild around him, cheering, but he stayed still — watching His eyes followed every motion, not with lust, but with the quiet curiosity of a man seeing something rare When the final note lingered in the air, you ended with a bow, breath steady, smile untouched The hall erupted in applause.

Shanks rose slowly, finishing his drink.

“That one,” he said to his first mate with a faint smile. “She’s got the kind of fire that belongs at sea.”

Later, when the crowd thinned, he found you behind the stage, leaning against a wooden pillar, wiping away the shimmer from your face.

He stopped a few paces away, voice calm but firm.

“I’ve seen people fight for treasure, and I’ve seen them die for it. But I’ve never seen someone move like you do. You ever think about sailing?”