He grabbed the knife's handle and drove the blade into the leader's belly, repeating what the man had once done to him: once, twice, three times.
Warm liquid splattered over his palm.
From that day on, he became one of the "Rust Cup Bandit Crew"
's members.
The ruthlessness to drive a weapon into another person's body quickly earned him standing.
Watching life drain through a wound, watching struggle give way to stillness, could earn him food, a safe corner, and days free of abuse.
Those days were the closest thing to happiness in Pete's memory.
He even began growing his blond hair long, simply because that young leader had once glanced at him and remarked, "Long blond hair looks pretty nice."
But the good days did not last.
One day, the leader suddenly vanished.
Pete frantically asked around, finally finding his answer on the harbor noticeboard.
The face on the wanted poster was painfully familiar: "the Black Captain's daughter,"
Balf Tani, with a bounty as high as forty-five million Beli.
Without a moment's hesitation, Pete led the remaining bandits to join the "Black Death Pirates."
He passed their initiation trial-an assessment paved with blood.
When the last competitor fell at his feet, he wiped the blood from his face and officially became a member of the pirate crew.
The deck's rough wood grain scraped his palm, and the sea breeze slapped his face with its salty tang.
Those hostile looks, the cold gleam of passing blades, the sticky spray of blood... everything came surging together, yet it gave Pete an almost painful sense of solidity.
His eyes always sought out a certain direction of their own accord. As long as that figure remained in sight, something hollow within his chest was filled.
Coughs welled up from deep in