As the Wicked Wench continued on its journey, Jack and Laffitte began to spend more time talking, slowly building the same kind of connection Jack once forged with Aramaki and B. For Jack, it wasn't enough to simply gather strong people under his flag; strength was useful, but loyalty was essential.
He had learned this lesson early, watching how the greatest crews in the seas—Luffy's, Shanks', Whitebeard's—were not simply powerful, but unshakably bound by loyalty to their captain and to each other. It was a principle Jack held above all else, especially because he knew what happened when loyalty didn't exist.
His father's crew had been powerful but fractured, each member pursuing their own agenda instead of supporting their captain. Rocks D. Xebec had never even been able to confide in his men at God Valley, unable to tell them he was there to save his wife and son. That failure had marked Jack deeply.
"You know," Jack said one evening, his tone blunt but calm, "I've been lucky to meet Aramaki and B. They're not just strong—they're my friends, and they're loyal. I'd do anything for them, and I know they'd do the same for me. But I need to know something from you, Laffitte. Are you my friend too?"
Laffitte's lips curled into a faint smile, but Jack didn't stop there.
"You're more than welcome to leave if you feel this crew isn't a good fit for you. There won't be any hard feelings. I'd rather you walk away now than stay without sharing our philosophy of piracy."
"I don't plan to leave," Laffitte answered smoothly, though there was an unusual weight in his tone. "I'm truly interested in you, Captain. Everything you stand for intrigues me, and I want to see how far it goes. You don't have to worry about me turning my back. Meeting you that day wasn't a chance—it was fate. And if I betray you, then I'd be betraying my own belief in fate itself. That's something I'll never do."
Jack gave a small nod, feeling a quiet satisfaction. Though he didn't show it openly, his special Observation Haki—one that allowed him to glimpse the true nature of people when they spoke—confirmed the truth behind Laffitte's words. That unique sense, one sharpened by his Hercules Method training, reassured him that Laffitte's loyalty was genuine.
With that settled, the Wicked Wench's journey became smoother than it had ever been. With a proper navigator finally aboard, the endless wandering that had once plagued their travels was gone.
The difference was felt almost immediately. In the first week alone, Laffitte guided them around several storms that would have taken days to push through. He charted courses that brought them to islands—sometimes inhabited, sometimes not—within a day's sailing.
The others felt the change most strongly. Before, it had sometimes taken a month just to find a single island, and storms had been something they endured more than avoided. Now, progress came naturally.
"Ahhh, you're a real lifesaver, Laffitte," B said, throwing an arm around the navigator's shoulder with a grin. "Before you came, it would take us forever just to land somewhere. Now we've hit three islands in under a week!"
Laffitte chuckled, not unused to praise but clearly pleased.
Jack, who had been quietly observing, suddenly leaned forward. "Hey, do you know where Ohara is? I heard it's one of the greatest study hubs in the world. I want to see it for myself—what kind of knowledge they've been gathering there."
Laffitte raised an eyebrow but pulled out a map without delay. He traced his finger along the parchment, muttering quietly as he compared the map with the compass and the wind's direction. Jack and the others could only watch as he worked, the process almost like a performance to them. Finally, after a few moments, Laffitte tapped the map.
"Yes, I can take you there. But are you certain?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of warning. "Ohara is under the World Government's watch. Nothing has happened yet, but their leading scholar is already a wanted man. Setting foot there could mean trouble."
Jack leaned back and grinned, completely unbothered. "Hahaha! Why would I care about the World Government's opinion? We'll go wherever we want. Isn't that right, crew?"
Both Aramaki and B answered with raised fists and loud cheers, their voices echoing across the deck. Their excitement was enough to make Laffitte close his eyes for a moment and smile. When he opened them again, he looked at Jack with an expression of quiet acceptance.
"If that's what the captain wants, then I suppose I don't really have a choice," Laffitte said lightly. "Ohara it is."
He then began giving Aramaki directions, as Aramaki was the one handling the helm, while B leaned against the railing, already humming another rap about their next destination.
------------------------
The Wicked Wench then set its course toward Ohara, marking the first time the crew had deliberately chosen a destination rather than drifting wherever fate carried them. Until now, Jack had always relied entirely on fate, traveling without care or concern for where they might end up. Both Aramaki and B had accepted this philosophy without complaint, but with Laffitte on board, the crew finally had direction.
Their voyage to Ohara was smoother than expected. In just under three days, they reached the island's shores. The Wicked Wench anchored without hesitation, and the crew began preparing to disembark. Yet before their boots touched the sand, they noticed a lone figure watching them from the shoreline.
It was a boy—no older than his mid-teens—standing firm with a rifle gripped tightly in his hands. His stance was steady, and the barrel of the weapon was aimed directly at the intruding pirates.
Aramaki's first instinct was to deal with the situation through force, his body tensing as he prepared to fight. But before he could make a move, Jack raised a hand to stop him. Jack's gaze lingered on the boy, his eyes filled not with hostility but with curiosity.
Then, without a word, he stepped off the ship. His crew followed closely behind, their footsteps pressing into the sand as they advanced toward the boy who now blocked their path.
"What are you doing here?" the boy demanded, his voice sharper than his age suggested. "We don't want any trouble. So I suggest you turn around and leave."
To emphasize his point, the boy pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the ground inches from Jack's foot, a perfect warning shot. His aim was flawless, and his expression showed he wasn't bluffing.
The shot caused a spark of anger to flare inside Jack. The Devil Fruit within him had made his temper a constant undercurrent, always threatening to rise. But he resisted the urge to lash out. This was another chance to test himself—another chance to master the storm within by choosing not to let rage dictate his actions.
Laffitte, however, saw things differently. Eager to prove both his loyalty and his strength, he acted without hesitation. His body blurred into motion, moving so quickly he seemed to vanish.
To an untrained eye, his attack would have been invisible. But Jack, Aramaki, and B followed every step, their expressions darkening as they realized what Laffitte intended.
'That kid is about to die,' Aramaki and B both thought grimly, knowing Laffitte wasn't holding back.
But Jack had a different thought entirely.
As Laffitte's blade sliced toward the boy's neck, something happened that none of them expected. The teen fired his rifle again. The shot rang out in the same instant the blade came down, the bullet striking against Laffitte's weapon and deflecting its arc just enough to save his throat.
Before Laffitte could recover, the boy drew a second firearm—a pistol—and fired point-blank. Laffitte twisted his head aside, narrowly dodging the bullet, the sound of it whistling past his ear.
Both combatants stepped back, reassessing one another. Laffitte's eyes narrowed, intrigued. The boy, though visibly confused by what had just transpired, did not lower his weapons. His breathing was steady, his stance unbroken.
"Who are you?" Laffitte asked at last, his voice laced with genuine curiosity. He had expected a scared child, not someone capable of parrying his strike with sheer precision.
"Clou D. Clubs," the boy answered without hesitation. His tone was plain, almost matter-of-fact, as though he had nothing to hide. "And you?"
"Laffitte," came the reply.
The two exchanged a small nod, neither lowering their guard. Their introductions were brief, but it was enough. Words had been spoken; now it was time to let their duel unfold.