The trumpeting call from Zou gradually faded behind them, eventually swallowed by the boundless sound of the waves.
On the deck of the Oro Jackson, the celebratory feast was in full swing. The tree root wine gifted by the Mink Tribe—enough to last for a month—was brought out. Its charred aroma mixed with the smell of roasted sea beasts, pushing the lively atmosphere on the ship to its peak.
"Kuhahaha! To my lads! Cheers!"
Roger held up a massive goblet, his face flushed red. His voice was so loud it felt like it could overturn the sky itself. He took a huge gulp of wine, letting it flow freely down his beard, his magnificent spirit making every crew member's blood boil with excitement.
"OHHH!!!"
Everyone roared in unison as glasses clinked together, their laughter mixing with the salty sea breeze.
"Hey, Shanks! Did you see that Mink lady earlier? I bet she was looking at me! She must've been captivated by my handsome nose!" Buggy declared proudly.
"Huh? You're dreaming, you idiot!" Shanks shot back. "That ridiculous red nose of yours would only scare women away!"
As always, the two apprentices were soon wrestling on the deck, their faces red as they argued over something trivial.
Rayleigh leaned against the ship's rail, a small smile on his face as he watched the boisterous crew. With steady, practiced movements, he wiped his sword clean. But his gaze kept drifting back to his captain, the man standing in the center of the crowd, laughing more heartily than anyone.
Just as Roger threw his head back to laugh again, a violent fit of coughing erupted from deep within his throat. His laughter stopped abruptly. He clutched his mouth with his hand, his body hunching over uncontrollably.
The festive deck fell silent in an instant.
"Captain?" Jabba asked, his own smile frozen on his face.
"Cough… cough, cough!" Roger waved his other hand forcefully, finally managing to calm his breathing after a great effort. He lowered the hand covering his mouth, showing his empty palm. A carefree, brilliant smile returned to his face. "Kuhahaha! I just choked on the wine! This stuff is strong!"
Seeing him laugh it off, the crew, though still a bit doubtful, were quickly swept up in his energy and returned to their celebration.
Rayleigh's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, and the light in his eyes dimmed just a little behind his glasses.
And in the shadow of the mast, Kyle's brow was deeply furrowed. In that instant, he had "heard" it. With his unique senses, he felt an extremely violent and chaotic dip in Roger's life force, like a broken, jarring note suddenly played in the middle of a powerful song. Although Roger suppressed it almost immediately with his incredible willpower, Kyle knew the damage was still there.
That wasn't a choke. It was a cry for help from a body on the verge of collapse.
Night fell, and the noise of the party finally died down. Inside the chart room, the lights were bright. Four rubbings of the Road Poneglyphs were laid out solemnly on the large nautical chart.
With trembling hands, Roger marked the locations from the four rubbings onto the map. The four points formed a massive diamond shape. At the very center, where the lines intersected, was a blank area of the ocean that had never been marked on any chart before.
That was the Final Island. The coordinates, hidden for eight hundred years, were finally revealed to the world.
"It's here…" Roger's finger slowly traced over the coordinates, his eyes burning with an unmatched fire. He took a deep breath and slammed his fist onto the table.
"Brothers!" His voice, filled with undeniable determination, echoed in the small room. "Everyone get some rest! Make sure the ship is in perfect condition! In three days, we set sail! To the Final Island!"
"OHHH!!!"
The cheers that followed were so loud they nearly tore the roof off. Shanks and Buggy hugged each other, crying and laughing with excitement. Jabba cracked his knuckles, and even Rayleigh had a relieved smile on his face. This was their moment. The Roger Pirates were about to reach their most glorious peak.
However, in this sea of excitement, Kyle felt like a silent, lonely island. He looked at the chart, at that final coordinate, but his heart felt heavy and cold.
He couldn't wait any longer. Given Roger's physical condition, even if he reached the Final Island, what then? How much time would he have left?
Kyle quietly slipped out of the chart room and went to the empty deck. Moonlight spilled onto the shimmering sea like water. He raised his hand, and a faint electromagnetic wave emanated from his fingertips, merging into the night sky. For the past few years, he hadn't just been on an adventure; he had spent most of his energy preparing for this, using his Wave-Wave Fruit's powers to gather strange legends and bits of intelligence from all over the world. He combined this information with his own memories from another life, desperately trying to find a glimmer of hope.
The Ope Ope no Mi, the ultimate Devil Fruit, could perform the "Immortality Operation," but it cost the user their own life. Where could he even find such a legendary fruit in this vast ocean? And even if he did, who would be willing to sacrifice their life for Roger? His captain would never agree to such a thing anyway. Roger would never accept survival at the cost of someone else's life.
The bones of the Thousand-Year Dragon were rumored to create an elixir of eternal life, but the creature was just an ancient legend, impossible to track down.
There was one more option… and it was the most likely one he could achieve.
"Pure Gold." A mysterious treasure rumored to stop the flow of time for its wearer, granting a form of immortality. According to the legends, the material came from the bioluminescent lure of a giant anglerfish living deep in the Grand Line.
"Have you made up your mind?"
Rayleigh's voice came from behind him. He had come out onto the deck at some point, holding a bottle of wine.
Kyle didn't turn around, simply answering with a soft, "Yeah."
Rayleigh walked over and handed him the bottle. Kyle took it and drank a large gulp. The spicy liquid burned his throat but did nothing to warm the chill in his heart.
"Roger… he won't agree," Rayleigh said, leaning against the railing and looking up at the moon.
"I know," Kyle's voice was calm. "So I'm not going to tell him."
"He'll figure it out."
"Then I'll just have to make him accept it. He won't have a choice."
Rayleigh fell silent. He looked at Kyle's determined face. His usually gentle crewmate now showed an unshakeable stubbornness. He let out a long sigh and patted Kyle's shoulder.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Help me get a small boat and enough supplies."
"...Alright."
At dawn, as the first rays of morning light broke over the horizon, a small, single-masted sailboat quietly departed from the Oro Jackson. He hadn't disturbed anyone except for Rayleigh.
Standing on the small boat, Kyle looked back. In the morning light, the silhouette of the Oro Jackson was majestic. It was already sailing on its set course, cutting through the waves toward that legendary destination. On board were his most cherished companions and his beloved captain.
Kyle's gaze lingered on the ship for a long time, as if trying to engrave every detail into his memory. Then, he turned his head, his face set with determination.
"You better not die on me, Roger."
Ahead of him lay a route completely different from that of the Roger Pirates—an unknown, perilous sea, and a desperate gamble with an uncertain outcome. But for that brilliant light that was about to go out, he was willing to brave any danger and go against the current.
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