The night was deep and quiet on the Oro Jackson as it sailed across the tranquil sea. Most of the crew were fast asleep, still recovering from the previous night's celebrations. The only sounds were the soft footsteps of the watchmen and the gentle whisper of waves against the hull.
But Kyle wasn't sleeping.
He leaned against the ship's railing just outside the infirmary, watching the moonlight shatter into silver fragments on the water's surface. The door creaked open, and Crocus stepped out, holding an oil lamp. He seemed to just want some fresh air and wasn't surprised to find Kyle there. He walked over and stood beside him, gazing into the vast darkness of the sea.
"Can't sleep?" Crocus asked, his voice unusually clear in the quiet night.
"No," Kyle answered without looking at him. "I'm just thinking about… some things that have to be done."
The two of them stood in silence for a moment.
"I know what you were asking me about earlier," Crocus said suddenly, referring to the urgent look Kyle had given him during the day. "When I first came on board, I gave Roger a full examination. The man is built like a monster. Apart from some old injuries, there's nothing wrong with him. Are you sure you aren't just overthinking things?"
"Even monsters get sick," Kyle said, turning his head. In the dim light, his golden eyes seemed especially bright. "Please, Mr. Crocus. I need you to examine him again, using your most precise and thorough methods. Just consider it… a strange personal request from me."
Crocus studied his face. There was no trace of a joke in Kyle's eyes, only a deep seriousness that felt almost like a prophecy.
He finally sighed and nodded. "Alright. I'll do it. If only because you tricked me into joining this crew in the first place."
The next day, the sun was bright, and Roger was on deck as usual, laughing loudly as he arm-wrestled with Jabba. Just as he was about to win, Crocus walked over with his medical kit.
"Roger, I need to see you."
Roger paused, then pointed to himself with his free hand, a huge, exaggerated smile on his face. "Me? Again? Crocus, don't tell me you've fallen for my strong muscles. I hate to break it to you, but I'm not into that!"
The rest of the crew burst into laughter.
"Kuhahaha! This was your idea again, wasn't it, Kyle!" Roger slammed Jabba's arm onto the barrel, winning the match. He stood up and clapped Kyle on the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble. "I told you, I'm perfectly fine! My body is tougher than a Sea King's!"
After the last check-up, Roger had often teased Kyle, telling him he worried too much for someone so young.
"Just think of it as a routine check-up, Captain," Kyle said. His expression was calm, but anyone who knew him could see the quiet persistence in his eyes.
"Alright, alright, you win. You're impossible," Roger said, casually sitting down on a nearby crate. He rolled up his sleeves. "Go on then! Let our famous Ship Doctor see what kind of treasures are hidden in this body of mine!"
Crocus ignored the joke, his expression becoming serious as he put on his stethoscope. The crewmates who had been laughing now gathered around, still smiling as they waited to see what their captain would do next.
Auscultation, percussion, a fundus examination… Crocus went through all the standard procedures, and his expression didn't change at all.
"See! I told you I'm fine!" Roger declared triumphantly.
Crocus didn't answer. Instead, he took out a strange-looking instrument from his medical bag. It looked like a mix between a compass and a magnifying glass. He carefully placed it on Roger's chest. Everyone watched the device with curiosity. Even Buggy leaned in closer, trying to get a better look at the complex markings on its surface.
Time ticked by, minute by minute.
When a doctor stops smiling, life and death hang in the balance.
Slowly, the laughter and chatter on the deck died down. Everyone noticed that small beads of sweat were starting to form on Crocus's forehead. His hand, which held the instrument, was completely still, as if it had turned to stone. The look on his face shifted from professional calmness to confusion, then to disbelief, and finally, to a heavy, undisguised solemnity.
The air itself felt thick and heavy.
Even the normally carefree Jabba stopped smiling and swallowed nervously.
"Hey… Crocus, what is it?" Rayleigh's voice cut through the silence. He could tell that something was seriously wrong.
Crocus slowly lifted his head. He took off his glasses and wiped them clean, as if he needed to make sure he wasn't seeing things. When he put them back on and looked at Roger, his eyes were filled with a complex mix of emotions. He put the strange instrument away, and every movement seemed to carry an immense weight.
"Roger," he said, his voice terribly hoarse, "You have… an incurable disease. It's something I've never seen in my decades of practicing medicine, nor have I ever read about it in any medical text."
"Boom—"
The words exploded in everyone's mind like a bomb.
The world went completely silent.
Shanks and Buggy stood with their mouths hanging open, the color draining from their faces. Jabba's flask slipped from his hand and clattered onto the deck, spilling liquor everywhere, but he didn't even notice. The expressions on the faces of Taro, Nozdon, Spencer, and Pittam all froze, as if they had just heard the cruelest joke in the world.
Only Roger didn't change. The smile on his face didn't even waver. He just paused for a second, and then…
"Kuhahahah!"
An earth-shattering laugh once again echoed across the sky. But this time, his laugh didn't have its usual bold and carefree sound. Instead, it was filled with a wild, desperate energy that made everyone's heart ache.
"So that's it!" Roger slammed his fist into his palm as if he had just solved a puzzle. "No wonder I've been having those violent coughing fits lately! I just thought it was from choking on my drink!"
He stood up and clapped Crocus on the shoulder, his grip still firm and powerful. "So? How much longer do I have to live?"
Crocus looked at the man in front of him, who was talking about his own death as if he were discussing the weather. He felt a profound sense of shock. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Without any treatment, three to four years at most. If I use every medical skill I have to prolong your life, maybe we can get five years. But a cure… is impossible."
"Five years, huh?" Roger stroked his chin, as if he were calculating a business deal. "Hmm… time's a little tight, but… it's enough!"
Enough?
Enough for what?
The crew was still reeling from the shock, and Roger's casual reaction left their minds completely blank.
"Captain…" Shanks's voice trembled, and tears started to well up in his eyes.
"You bastard… What kind of joke is this!" Jabba suddenly rushed forward and grabbed Roger by the collar, his eyes bloodshot with rage and grief. "This isn't funny! It's not funny at all!"
"I'm not joking," Roger said, letting Jabba hold onto him. The wide smile on his face finally faded a little. He looked at Jabba, then at every single one of his companions, his gaze more serious than it had ever been.
"An illness isn't going to kill me. If I'm going to die, I'll die at the destination I choose for myself!"
Kyle had been standing at the edge of the crowd, watching everything unfold in silence. In the story he knew, Roger only found Crocus after he was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Now, even though Kyle had interfered and brought Crocus aboard early—revealing a bit of his foreknowledge in the process—the result was the same. Crocus still couldn't cure Roger.
He hadn't needed the world's best doctor to heal simple wounds. He had needed him to borrow a little more time from Death for his captain.
Even though he had been prepared for this, hearing the cruel truth spoken aloud and seeing Roger's sky-shattering laugh filled his throat with an indescribable sorrow. That wasn't fear or denial. That was the roar of a man who had just been told his life's finish line and had chosen to declare war on fate itself.
Kyle silently clenched his fists, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.
Crocus looked at the crew before him, especially their towering captain, and he suddenly understood the real reason he was on this ship. Finding the Rumba Pirates was a promise, but keeping this man alive and witnessing his final, brilliant journey would be the most important and cruelest battle of his entire medical career.
"Alright, everyone, cheer up!" Roger pushed Jabba away gently and stood at the bow of the ship, his hands on his hips. "It's just five years, isn't it? I'm going to live more in these five years than other people do in fifty!"
He turned sharply, his eyes burning like torches as he looked at every sad, angry, and confused face.
"My lads!" His voice boomed, drowning out the sound of the waves. "We don't have time to waste on boring islands! Get those long faces off of you!"
"Our journey, from this moment on—"
"Is going to accelerate!"
"Hoist the sails! Full speed ahead! We're going to use the time we have left to find the Final Island and turn this whole world upside down!"
"Oh oh oh oh oh oh!"
After a brief, stunned silence, the crew's response was like a volcanic eruption. They roared with all their strength, as if trying to shout away all the grief and anger in their hearts, turning it into a wild wind that would push the ship forward.
The sadness didn't disappear. It was just transformed into something else—something hotter, fiercer, and more resolute.
The sails of the Oro Jackson instantly filled with wind. The ship's bow cut through the blue waves, speeding forward at an unprecedented pace toward the unknown and stormy depths of the Grand Line.
The destination of their journey hadn't changed, but everyone on board knew that from this moment on, the countdown had begun.
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