Silva staggered back to his home base, his mind clouded with turmoil. The place was well-equipped, far from being just an ordinary house.
It belonged to his adoptive father, Shiruba Bonaparte, a renowned sniper from the island of Gunners. Though he once came close to claiming the title of the world's best marksman, he had ultimately fallen short against a previous world champion. Middle-aged and childless, he had adopted Silva, a prodigious orphan with exceptional talent.
Silva's eyesight and perception were extraordinary, allowing him to master long-range precision shooting at a young age. He had competed in numerous shooting tournaments, amassing a wealth of honors. With each victory, his arrogance grew.
Bonaparte had often warned him to stay grounded, not to be blinded by vanity. Though Silva would nod in agreement, deep down, he dismissed his father's advice. Eventually, Bonaparte forbade him from participating in competitions, insisting that he focus on mastering different firearms and honing his skills by hunting wild beasts.
But after Bonaparte passed away last year, Silva returned to the tournament scene, effortlessly claiming championship titles time and time again. He was hailed as a future world-class sniper, and his confidence soared to new heights.
Yet today, in his first real battle—a duel where life and death were on the line—he had lost to an unknown pirate sniper. Years of accumulated glory had crumbled in an instant.
"I'm sorry, Father... I was wrong... I'm not worthy of that title yet!"
He wept openly, recalling his father's words: A sniper who has never experienced life-and-death combat cannot truly be called the best. The competitions had never been about skill alone; they were a spectacle, a tool for gambling, a way to lure traders and pirates into spending fortunes.
"Roger Pirates... It's all your fault! You destroyed everything I worked for!"
His thoughts twisted, and he fixated his hatred on the Roger Pirates, convinced that Peterm had taken everything from him.
...
"If you lost something, then take it back. What good is sitting here, cursing the heavens?"
Brook's voice cut through the heavy silence. The skeleton musician watched the young snipers's spiral into self-pity with mild amusement.
"Didn't you accept Peterm's challenge fair and square? If you had won, your reputation would've skyrocketed. But you lost. That's the reality of it—nothing more than another step in the game of life."
"Who are you?!" Silva snapped, clutching his wounded shoulder. The gash remained untreated, and upon seeing a stranger, his instincts screamed caution.
"The name's Brook. I'm a pirate. Tell me—do you want to surpass Peterm? Your talent exceeds his, yet you still lost. Clearly, you lack real experience. If you want to grow stronger, then set sail. Join my crew, and I'll show you what true power looks like."
With that, Brook activated his Yomi Yomi no Mi abilities. A chilling aura filled the air as frost spread across the ground, the ghostly presence of the underworld creeping into the room. Silva shuddered—he could feel the overwhelming presence of death, as though he had stepped into hell itself.
"Y-You're a pirate too? How do you compare to the Roger Pirates? You haven't defeated them either, have you?"
Silva remained fixated on his grudge, his mind caught in an endless loop.
"Peterm is nothing more than a stepping stone. Why are you so obsessed with him?!" Brook's voice boomed, startling even Shakky and Antonio, who had been listening nearby. "Expand your horizons! Come to the New World and witness true strength!"
Silva fell silent.
Brook crossed his arms, his tone turning colder. "If this is the extent of your ambition, then you don't deserve a place on my ship. Stay here and wallow in your misery."
Silva's face turned as pale as a sheet. His body, weakened from blood loss, finally gave out. With a dull thud, he collapsed to the floor.
Brook and the others exchanged awkward glances. Not only had they interrupted Silva's bandaging, but their words had also dealt him a double blow to the spirit. Without hesitation, Shakky and Antonio helped lift Silva and began tending to his wounds.
Feeling embarrassed, Brook wandered around aimlessly. He noticed that the place had quite a few tools and even blueprints for improving firearm power. There were numerous machining parts and gun components scattered around.
Before long, after Shakky fed Silva some blood-replenishing medicine, he finally regained consciousness.
"You guys bandaged me?"
"No shit. You think you passed out and wrapped yourself up?" Shakky rolled her eyes.
Silva fell silent again, unsure of what to say. The atmosphere turned strangely quiet.
"Well? Interested in setting sail with us? You'll never become the world's greatest marksman by hiding away on some island."
Brook broke the silence, extending an invitation.
"I couldn't even defeat a pirate crew's sniper. How could I possibly become the world's greatest marksman?"
Silva's voice was heavy with doubt. It was clear that the duel had shaken his resolve, nearly shattering his confidence.
"You can't win now, but that doesn't mean you never will. People grow stronger. So tell me—what's your resolve?"
Brook grabbed Silva by the collar, his ghostly blue eyes locking onto the disheartened young man.
A long silence followed…
"I understand now, Captain Brook. Please take me with you! I want to see the strongest fighters in the world—I will become the world's greatest marksman!"
Tears welled up in Silva's eyes as he shouted, his frustration ignited into determination. He recalled the mocking gazes of both the islanders and pirates after his defeat, and his stubborn nature flared up. One day, they would look at him with awe instead.
"Welcome aboard, our future world's greatest marksman—Silva."
Bruno gave a faint smile, helping Silva to his feet and straightening his disheveled collar.
"Shakky, Antonio, help pack up his things. There's plenty of space on the ship."
Brook planned to bring all of Silva's gun-related equipment aboard so he could continue his research.
"Wait, isn't this a little too fast? Captain Brook, my wounds still hurt!"
"You just give the orders. Tell us what you need, and we'll pack it up. I'll personally carry everything back."
As the crew's strongest fighter, Brook was decisive. Once he made up his mind, he acted immediately. Before long, he was carrying an enormous bundle back to the ship.
Along the way, islanders and pirates alike pointed and whispered among themselves. Silva, his shoulder still wrapped in fresh bandages, clenched his jaw, his face dark with frustration.
"The strong don't waste time worrying about the chatter of the weak."
Brook's calm words struck a chord. In an instant, Silva's mind cleared, and his resolve to become stronger took root.
"Captain Brook, you actually brought back a sniper?"
Fishman shipwright Tom grinned widely, clearly surprised at how quickly Brook had completed the recruitment.
"Silva, our future world's greatest marksman. And this is Tom, our future world's greatest shipwright."
Brook kept the introductions brief, letting them get acquainted on their own.
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+100 chapters on p@treon/tambeerg