"Ah, giving up already? Accepting your fate so easily? It seems your resolve and backbone are indeed far inferior to that Crocodile lying on the ground."
Amid the suffocating silence, Ross's voice drifted leisurely over from the side, carrying a hint of regret and mockery.
He tilted his head slightly, his relaxed tone making it seem as though he were seated in a theater box, watching a play that had just reached its climax only to fall apart at the end.
From the moment he had arrived, what Ross wanted to enjoy was the humanity and ugliness these rats trapped in a desperate situation would reveal when faced with the choice between life and death.
Some people's unyielding choices made him willing to give them high praise in his heart, even as their enemy.
Others' self-righteousness, their patient surrender of dignity for the greater good, only made him shake his head again and again, filled with contempt and disgust.
In this cruel world where the strong devoured the weak, everyone had the right to choose how they wished to live. There was no absolute best answer.
But when someone clung to an unattainable hope, slowly shedding their fierceness, dignity, and even soul one piece at a time as they struggled on in miserable survival, seeking compromise—
Even if one day they truly survived long enough to achieve their dream, would that stained dream still be the shining dream they had when they first set sail?
Shanks and the others—was their original dream of freedom when they went to sea really nothing more than living as humbly as insects?
"Heh, Ross. That vile personality of yours really hasn't changed at all. Don't waste your effort. Your provocation won't work on me. Either give me a quick death now, or..."
Shanks, half-kneeling