"What are you worried about," Shanks said, pulling a face. "I am not going to let you ferry me straight to Laugh Tale."
He thought Ozz feared he would cheat, skip the Road Poneglyphs and ride the Roger Pirates' hard-won route to the final island. He did not know Ozz actually held an Eternal Pose to Laugh Tale.
"Spare me," Ozz said, hands in his pockets, turning back with a thin smile. "You know my temperament, Shanks. Even when the time is right, even if I help someone seize the One Piece, that someone will not be you. If the two of us truly joined hands, the new era Roger bought with his life would turn to trash. There would be no suspense at all. Flatter than a stagnant pond."
"That would be boring," Shanks admitted.
Ozz had no interest in joining forces with Shanks or with the boy who would come after him, Monkey D. Luffy. It was not dislike. It was simply this. Both men already had the bearing of kings and crews to match. They did not need gilding. What they would one day need was a hand when the snow fell.
"Shame," Shanks said with a lopsided grin, and then his gaze sharpened as a thought clicked into place. Roger had once warned him that Ozz would grow up to be a professional troublemaker on the seas. So far the old man was not wrong.
"By the way, Shanks," Ozz said lightly. "When are you going to the Holy Land."
The question made Shanks stiffen. He stared at Ozz, mouth parting. "How do you know about that."
He had not told anyone. Roger had given him that sliver of truth at the end, a private word before they parted. They had found Shanks in a treasure chest at God Valley. With the hair and the features, the odds were high he was Celestial Dragon stock, the blood of the Figarland line. No one outside the men who opened that chest should know.
"Is it strange," Ozz said, slinging an arm around his shoulders and giving him a companionable pat.
"It is," Shanks said. "Captain Roger did not tell anyone. I did not either. How could you possibly know."
"Because I count as a Celestial Dragon myself," Ozz said.
Shanks blinked, then took three quick steps back. "What."
"You are joking."
"I watched you board from that little island in the New World with my own eyes," Shanks protested. "Do not tell me your parents are Celestial Dragons and you never said a word."
"Parents, parents," Ozz said, tugging the corner of his mouth. "Forget it. I joined recently, on merit. Call it off-register. No strange blessings from the God Knights."
"That is a thing," Shanks said, trying to keep up as the era hurtled along without him. He got his balance back and finally answered the original question. "I am in no hurry to go back. Maybe later. I do not feel much attachment to that place."
Ozz lit a cigarette, let the smoke run out on his exhale, and nodded. "Then put your back into it. Your twin is no weakling, and your father is a monster."
Shanks scanned his face, trying to tell if he was being teased. Ozz only smiled.
…
They made landfall on a barren speck of an island. The first match would go to the gunmen. Ozz hooked Mihawk by the elbow when the swordsman made to leap ashore and, shameless as ever, teleported himself and Yasopp to the island's heart.
There was little point watching the sword bout first when he knew how it would end. If Shanks and Mihawk fought at full strength, the result might be a coin toss at their current levels. If it was the blade alone, Mihawk's gift would tell. Ozz knew that firsthand.
"Tch." Hawk-Eye glowered at him for blocking the fun. Shanks laughed and let it go.
Yasopp's eyes were shining when the world stitched itself around him. Teleporting a person felt stranger by far than moving a ship. He could not help the thought that flashed through him. If you built a Devil Fruit for a sniper from the ground up, it would look a lot like this one.
The two men took their places. Tradition said back to back, ten paces, then turn and take your shot. Ozz thought it was silly. With Observation Haki in play, the count meant very little. Still, it was an old custom among marksmen. For his first formal duel as the so-called world's greatest sniper, he would respect it.
He snapped his fingers. Black leather gloves wrapped his hands. A long black rifle settled into his grip like a thought given weight.
They began to walk, step and step again, the sea sighing against the shore. Ozz's stride was loose and easy, as if he were strolling. Yasopp's face was all focus and preparation.
"One," Shanks counted from the edge of the clearing.
"Two."
"Ten."
On the last number, Yasopp spun like a sprung trap and fired. Ozz turned a hair late, as if caught out, and the smoke line stitched the space between them.
Every eye on the island fixed on Ozz. He simply lifted two fingers and caught the spinning round between them.
No Armament Haki. Just the bullet.
"Impossible," someone breathed.
Yasopp stared as if the ground had tilted under him. He had been proud of that shot. The speed. The angle. He had expected at least to graze. Instead.
Ozz raised the rifle. A dim red glimmer lit at the back of his eyes. "You have a lot of room to grow," he said, meeting Yasopp's stare without malice. His left hand steadied the stock. His voice flattened. "Right shoulder."
The custom rifle spoke once.
A red flower bloomed on Yasopp's shoulder. He tried to twist away, but the world's greatest did not shoot to where a man stood. He shot to where a man would be.
"So that is Observation Haki at that scale," Beckman murmured.
"This is the strength of the first sniper," Hongo said, not quite a question.
Yasopp pressed a palm to the puncture and then let his hand fall, a lopsided grin breaking loose despite the pain. "I get it."
"Why did you not harden," Ozz asked. "I told you where I would hit."
Yasopp's smile did not falter. "Being afraid of injury during a gun duel would shame the craft."
For a heartbeat Ozz said nothing. Then his mouth bent. "Good answer."
He flicked the spent bullet he had caught earlier up and let it drop into Yasopp's uninjured hand. "Keep it. The first round you ever fired at the top."
Yasopp closed his fingers around it as if it were warm.
The two men reset positions without prompting. Again the count. Again the turn. Again the shot, and this time Ozz let it slip past his ear by a whisper, more pleased than he cared to show when he saw the correction in Yasopp's wrist and the steadier line in his breath.
They went on until the light thinned. Each time Ozz named a target, and each time Yasopp chose not to defend it, a little more certain in his decision. Accepting pain was not courage in itself. For a marksman it was an oath. If you fear a wound, you cannot hold a steady barrel. If you flinch from consequence, you cannot call a shot.
On the last exchange, Ozz fired without warning and shaved a lock of hair from Yasopp's temple. The sniper did not blink.
"Enough," Ozz said, lowering the rifle. "You will do."
Yasopp straightened, chest rising and falling. "Thank you."
Across the island, steel rang. The sword bout had finally begun in earnest, Griffon bright against Yoru's night. Shanks' laugh carried once and clipped into silence. Mihawk said nothing at all.
Shanks would cross his threshold someday. Mihawk would be there when he did. Yasopp would miss and miss until he did not. That was how the sea taught.
On the way back to the beach, Shanks fell in step with Ozz. "You could have joined us," he said again, knowing the answer and asking anyway.
"I meant what I said," Ozz replied. "I am a remnant of the old era. The new era has no ship built to carry me."
Shanks breathed out and grinned. "Then sail alongside for a while."
"For a while," Ozz agreed.
They stood together and watched the crew haul the skiffs down. The wind shifted. The day slid toward evening. Yasopp cleaned his rifle with careful hands, blood drying on his sleeve. The bullet lay heavy in his pocket, a small round promise.
"Tomorrow," Shanks called to Mihawk.
"Tomorrow," Hawkeye answered.
The Red Force lifted off the beach. The island sank into its own quiet. Somewhere in the Holy Land, a rumor waited with Shanks' name on it. Somewhere in the East, a boy in a straw hat was still a child. Somewhere ahead, the sea changed color at the line where an era began.
Ozz closed his eyes and listened to the slap of water on wood. The sound did not change. The man did.