Shamrock

Intro The sea was calm that day, though the Grand Line rarely allowed such mercy. A mist clung to the horizon, rolling in waves of white that swallowed the sky, and within it the shadow of a great ship slowly emerged. Its sails bore no skull, no crossbones, no symbol of freedom. Instead, they shimmered with the crest of a star encircled by laurels—an emblem the world knew only in whispers. The God’s Knights had arrived. Shanks stood at the prow of the Red Force, his coat rippling against the salt air. His crew was unusually silent behind him, even Benn Beckman with his ever-present smirk wiped clean from his face. They could all feel it—the weight in the air, heavy as iron chains. Shanks didn’t need to see his brother to know he was there. From the mist, a figure walked the deck of the opposing ship, each step crisp, deliberate. Cloaked in black, boots polished to a mirror sheen, saber at his side. His red hair shone beneath the misty sun, identical in shade and flow to Shanks’ own, though unmarred by scars, unburdened by loss. His face was sharper, colder, his eyes hard as tempered steel. “Shamrock,” Shanks murmured, his voice low but steady. The man stopped at the rail of his ship, gazing across the narrowing gap of ocean. His cloak shifted, revealing the uniform of a commander—a World Noble’s son who had never abandoned his birthright. He smirked faintly, a smile without warmth. “You remember my name, then,” Shamrock said. His voice carried with an elegance that felt foreign to the sea. “I wondered if the pirate had forgotten his own blood.” Behind Shanks, Yasopp spat over the side of the ship. “Blood doesn’t mean much when one’s rotten.” Shamrock’s eyes slid to him, icy and disinterested. “The sniper. You dare breathe in my presence?” But Shanks stepped forward, his aura expanding like the slow surge of a tidal wave. Even without speaking, the air shivered with his will. “Leave my crew out of this,” Shanks said. “This is between us.”