After Oden's translation, Roger smacked his forehead with a sigh.
"So that's how it is… We came too early. The One Piece won't become a true treasure for another twenty-five years!"
His voice blended with the crash of the waves — half speaking to his crew, half lamenting to the endless sea.
A heavy silence fell over the deck. The crew exchanged uneasy glances, disappointment spreading like a fog.
But then, Shiro's eyes lit up. After so many years of guessing, he finally knew what the One Piece really was.
"Captain Roger, everyone! Why be so down? We're the first crew in eight hundred years to reach the Final Island!"
He raised his arms, his voice brimming with excitement.
"From this day forward, Captain Roger is the true Pirate King, and we are his crew!"
His words struck like lightning.
The men froze for a moment, then erupted into thunderous cheers.
Some raised barrels and drank until the liquor spilled down their chins. Others locked arms, roaring with laughter and pounding each other's backs.
Roger's grin widened. He threw back his head, laughing heartily, then bellowed:
"To celebrate reaching the Final Island — three days of feasting! Wahahahaha!"
And so they did.
For three days, the nameless island was alive with fire and music. Bonfires lit the beach, painting their faces red with flame. The scent of roasting meat and rich sake mixed with the salt wind. The crew danced, sang, and played, filling the night with joy.
Roger stood among them, cup raised high, his booming laughter echoing to the stars.
When dawn broke on the fourth day, he climbed the island's highest peak. Looking over the land that bore witness to their greatest triumph, he spoke solemnly:
"From now on, this island will be called… Laugh Tale."
That name would one day become the holiest dream in the hearts of pirates everywhere.
On the return voyage, the Oro Jackson anchored once more at the familiar deserted island.
Shanks and Buggy came running at the sight of the sails, faces beaming with youthful joy, eyes sparkling with dreams of adventure.
But when the ship set out again, silence fell. The crew stood quietly at the rails, watching the island fade into the horizon, their hearts heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Roger leaned against the railing, his cup already drained dry. At length, he walked to Shiro, slinging an arm over the boy's shoulder.
"Tell me, Shiro… who do you think the 'child of destiny' in those Poneglyphs will be?"
Shiro's heart skipped a beat. He forced a calm smile.
"Of course it's you, Captain Roger! You've eaten the Gum-Gum Fruit. Someday you'll awaken its true form — the Sun God Nika — just like the Sun Tree itself!"
But even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at him. He knew the real "child of destiny" was supposed to be Monkey D. Luffy.
Roger stroked his chin thoughtfully, the sea breeze tugging at his wild hair.
"Shiro… I don't think it's me. Think about it — in twenty-five years, I'll be seventy-five. I doubt I'll even live that long."
There was no bitterness in his tone — only acceptance.
Shiro had no words.
Roger's gaze shifted past him, landing on Shanks and Buggy as they wrestled and laughed on deck.
"Shiro, doesn't it seem strange? Buggy, healthy as a horse, suddenly falls ill. Shanks stays behind to care for him. Too much of a coincidence… feels like fate."
"Fate? What do you mean?" Shiro asked, curiosity burning in his chest.
Roger's eyes turned grave.
"Think about it. We've already been to the Final Island. We've seen the truth. There's no reason for us to return. But those two… they haven't. One day, they'll want to see it for themselves.
And in twenty-five years, they'll still be in their prime — just thirty-eight.
Maybe it's the will of the world that one of them will be the true child of destiny."
Shiro froze, speechless. He wanted to shout, I'm only four years older than they are! But the words stuck in his throat.
"Is this the price of being a 'free rider'? To end up just another relic of the old era?"
He clutched his chest, half-ready to cough blood.
Roger removed his straw hat, fingers brushing the brim with quiet affection.
"Shiro… I thought at first it might be you. But now… I think I was wrong."
There was regret in his tone, but also peace.
"Captain Roger, what will we do next? Keep sailing? Or take on the World Government?" Shiro asked, trying to sound calm though anxiety twisted inside him.
Roger's lips curled into a mischievous smile. He leaned in, voice low.
"Of course… we'll disband."
"Disband?!" Shiro yelped, then quickly hushed himself.
"Why?! We're not sick or crippled — we could keep sailing!"
Roger patted his shoulder, voice heavy with meaning.
"Shiro, you're still a boy. Most of us are in our forties and fifties. We've been sailing for decades. It's time to rest.
And besides… the Poneglyphs said it themselves. The real treasure won't be ready for twenty-five years. Some of us won't live to see that day. But our children might."
His eyes grew distant for a moment, then sharpened with conviction.
"That's why. We'll return to ordinary lives. Have families. Leave the rest to the next generation."
Shiro could hardly believe it. Since when was Roger this thoughtful? This cunning?
But Roger was already moving, striding toward Shanks. He gently set the straw hat on the boy's head, his voice soft but resolute.
"Shanks. This hat is yours now. Grow strong… and carry the next era on your shoulders."
T/N: If you would like to read up to 20 chapters ahead for all my works, check out my P@treon: patreon.com/GhidorahWriter
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