Silence.
Only the gentle lapping of waves against the Oro Jackson's hull filled the void, a stark contrast to the roaring laughter from just moments ago.
Doringo, cheeks red and shirt half-untucked, still stood with his finger in the air like he was proposing a toast.
"...Are we?" he repeated.
More jaws dropped.
Even pirates too drunk to remember their own names sobered slightly. Cups lowered. A few shifted away, like the absurdity might be contagious.
Rayleigh blinked slowly. "Are we… what, Doringo?"
Doringo's eyes darted to the baby in Roger's arms. Then to the sword sheathed at his hip — white and gold, cursed and brilliant. His drunken mind tried to catch up with his own mouth.
"Are we…" he gestured vaguely at the child, "...y'know. Gonna... not keep him?"
"You mean—" Gabban started.
"Are we gonna kill the damn baby?" Doringo blurted, voice cracking.
A nearby crewmate dropped his mug. Another muttered a prayer.
Roger didn't flinch. He just kept rocking the baby slowly, his face calm but unreadable.
Rayleigh pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, you could've phrased that a hundred better ways."
"I could've," Doringo said, swaying slightly, "but I didn't."
Gabban took a step forward. "You wanna tell us why, exactly, you're advocating for infant murder?"
"Because!" Doringo jabbed a finger toward the parchment Yui still held. "Rocks D. Xebec. That's who his father is. That man tried to burn the damn world down this morning!"
The crew muttered. Uneasy glances passed between them.
"And now—" Doringo raised the sword in his hand, still sheathed. It gleamed ominously even in the dusk. "Now I find this in the pile. His mother's blade. I recognized it. We all heard stories about Althea's cursed dragon sword. She died at God Valley too. Her power was no joke."
He pointed between the baby and the blade. "So here we are. A half-Rocks, half-Figarland kid with a Mythical Zoan sword I just happen to be holding. What if he grows up and finishes what his daddy started?"
Yui muttered, "Or he could grow up and not be a psychopath."
"Yeah, or!" Doringo waved his bottle. "He does. And cuts us all in half while riding a white dragon made of nightmares!"
Rayleigh looked like he was going to step in again, but Roger held up a hand.
He looked down at the baby — tiny, sleeping, unaware of the weight his name carried. Of the tension his bloodline poured onto the deck like oil over fire.
Roger finally looked up. "And you want to kill him."
"I want to keep the sword," Doringo corrected immediately, wagging the blade like it was a fish. "The kid… is kind of in the way of that."
"Doringo," Gabban said flatly, "you realize how stupid that sounds, right?"
"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking but too scared to say!"
"No one is thinking that," Rayleigh snapped. "And if they were, they're smart enough not to say it aloud!"
Doringo crossed his arms, pouty. "Hmph. Still think it's a valid question."
Roger stepped down from his barrel, still holding the baby gently in one arm. His voice was calm, but cold.
"Doringo," he said. "I like you."
Doringo perked up slightly. "Really?"
Roger continued. "But if you ever suggest killing a child on my deck again... I will throw you overboard. Sword and all."
Doringo blinked. "...Even if it's cursed and valuable?"
"Especially if it's cursed and valuable."
The crew murmured in agreement. Some even nodded.
Roger's gaze sharpened, and the quiet that had settled over the crew deepened.
"Doringo," Roger said slowly, voice steady as iron, "you won't be keeping that sword."
Doringo blinked, startled. "What? But—"
"That sword," Roger continued, lifting the white-and-gold blade slightly, "belongs to Tiber's mother. It stays with him."
Doringo's fingers twitched toward the hilt. His drunken bravado faltered. "But it's mine now. I found it."
"No," Roger interrupted, stepping closer, the baby safe in his arm, "it's his legacy. I will not have a cursed weapon like that dangling around without control."
The crew watched silently, the tension coiling tighter than before.
Doringo's face flushed deeper — half with frustration, half with an unsettling mix of envy and fear.
"You're serious."
"Dead serious."
Roger's eyes bore into him, unwavering.
"Listen carefully," Roger said quietly, voice low but deadly. "This boy stays. The sword stays with him. And anyone who thinks otherwise will answer to me."
Doringo's lips pressed thin. For a moment, he looked ready to argue.
But the weight behind Roger's words — the calm authority of a man who had faced hell and come back — crushed every rebuttal before it formed.
Roger gently handed the baby back to Sunbell, who cradled the tiny bundle with surprising tenderness despite his usual awkwardness.
"Crocus," Roger called, voice low but firm.
The ship's doctor, a tall man with a calm presence, was leaning against the mast nearby, cleaning his scalpel. He straightened and approached with practiced ease.
"Check the boy over. Make sure he's healthy—no curses or sickness sneaking in with that bloodline."
Doctor Crocus nodded without hesitation, carefully taking the baby from Sunbell's arms.
Roger's gaze didn't waver as he added, "After you're done, take him to Shanks. Keep them together. Babies need someone to watch over them, especially on a ship like this."
Crocus blinked, surprised but respectful. "Shanks is… a baby too."
"Bah! Crocus, don't start with me. A baby's a baby! They'll figure it out"
"Captain, they cant mov-"
Roger waved a hand, dismissing the seriousness. "Alright, enough gloom. Everyone, get back to the party! We've got gold to drink, songs to sing, and legends to make!"
The pirates roared in approval, diving back into their drunken revelry as the Oro Jackson rocked gently on the calm West Blue waters.
Rayleigh approached Roger cautiously, the sounds of the crew's laughter fading behind him as he drew near. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken tension and the quiet presence of the two infants sleeping close by.
"Roger," Rayleigh said softly, folding his arms as he leaned against the railing, "are you sure it's safe to keep the boy around? Considering everything… his parents, their history."
Roger's eyes settled on the baby, serene but burdened.
"You and Garp," Rayleigh continued, "you killed Rocks D. Xebec just hours ago. A man who nearly tore the world apart."
Roger nodded slowly.
"And his mother…" Rayleigh glanced toward Shanks. "She's a Celestial Dragon."
Roger met Rayleigh's gaze steadily. "Yes. Shanks is a Celestial Dragon, too. His father is Garling. Shanks and Tiber are cousins."
Rayleigh exhaled, a bitter smile curling his lips. "The Figarlands are a strange family. A daughter killed her father. That daughter had a child with Rocks. A brother killed his sister. And now, the children of those siblings end up in our care."
He shook his head slowly. "We've kidnapped them both. This whole thing is madness."
Roger's eyes flicked to Rayleigh, steady and unreadable.
"Rayleigh," Roger said.
"Yes?"
"We keep those children safe. No matter what blood runs in their veins. They might be the future."
Roger rested his hands on the railing, watching the moonlight ripple over the waves. The laughter from the deck had dulled to a low hum behind them.
"Rayleigh," Roger said quietly, without turning. "Did you agree with Doringo?"
Rayleigh didn't answer right away. He came to stand beside him, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the same horizon.
"I did," he said at last, voice low. "Not all of it. Not the way he said it. But the core of it… yeah."
Roger nodded slightly, unsurprised.
Rayleigh continued, "I'll listen to you, Captain. I always have. But we both know Doringo said what he said mostly 'cause of greed. He wanted something that didn't belong to him. He got loud because the drink made him brave. But beneath that… he was scared. We all are."
He glanced sideways. "This isn't just some kid we picked up in a wreck."
"I know," Roger said.
"His father was Rocks D. Xebec," Rayleigh said plainly. "The man we helped take down hours ago. His mother, Althea of the Figarland family… she could stand toe-to-toe with you. That's not an exaggeration. I saw her once—on the sea, back when I was green. She didn't even look at us. Just passed by. Felt like death in silk."
Roger exhaled slowly, the memory hanging heavy between them.
"A child born of those two…" Rayleigh shook his head. "There's not a force alive that won't come looking for him someday. Navy, Cipher Pol, maybe even the Elders themselves if they ever find out. And he's just a baby."
Roger finally looked at him. "That's why we have to protect him. Not fear him."
Rayleigh studied him carefully, trying to read the flickers in his friend's eyes. "And when will you tell him? About what he is? Who his parents were?"
Roger's jaw tightened for a second. Then he replied, steady but soft, "When he's around five. Old enough to remember, young enough to still trust me."
Rayleigh raised a brow. "That's not a lot of time."
"I know," Roger said. "But I won't lie to him. He deserves to grow up with truth, not secrets."
Rayleigh grunted. "Shanks too, then?"
Roger nodded. "They both deserve to know where they come from."
A silence passed between them again. Not heavy—just the kind that came when two men had said what mattered and didn't feel the need to dress it up.
Then Rayleigh muttered, half to himself, "The Figarland's are a weird bunch."
Roger gave a sideways glance. "You think?"
He snorted. "What's next? Linlin's gonna go fat?"
Roger laughed, sudden and sharp. "Don't let her hear you say that."
Rayleigh chuckled to himself, leaning heavier on the rail. "Wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen this week."