After nearly a year of wandering, the hull of the Oro Jackson bore new scars from its long and difficult journey. They had finally reached their last supply stop before the end of the legendary voyage—a nameless port town. The air here was thick with the smells of sea salt, rum, and a strange, quiet feeling of finality.
In the town's only tavern, the Roger Pirates had, as usual, taken over the entire place.
"Another big barrel! Bartender!" Jabba's thick arm tossed an empty barrel onto the bar, making the nearby cups and plates clatter.
"Shanks! Did you steal my drink again, you bastard?!"
"You're just too slow, Buggy!"
The usual brawl between Shanks and Buggy erupted again, and the two apprentices were soon rolling on the floor, drawing unrestrained laughter from the crewmates surrounding them. The entire tavern was roaring with life, as if everyone was determined to shout away the fatigue and stress they had accumulated over the past year.
But Roger did not participate.
He sat alone in a booth in the corner, with only a glass of water in front of him. He watched his crewmates—their flushed faces and shining eyes—with a faint smile on his lips. Along the way, there had been too many times they'd said, "If only Kyle were here," but they had still made it this far. Every single one of them had grown more reliable, stronger than they were a year ago.
Roger felt proud, but there was a part of that pride that felt incomplete. It was like finishing a grand feast, only to realize one of your family members was missing from the table.
He picked up the glass of water, feeling a familiar tickle in his throat that he forcibly suppressed. Time was running out. For him, and for this journey.
It was time.
Roger stood up. Waving with a smile amidst the crew's shouts of "One more drink, Captain!", he walked out of the tavern alone. He didn't return to the ship but instead walked along the pier to the end of a deserted breakwater. The sea breeze ruffled his messy black hair as he pulled a small Transponder Snail from his coat. It was a special one Kyle had left behind, meant only for their private, direct conversations. In the past year, it had only rung once, when Kyle had called Rayleigh to let everyone know he was safe. After that, there was only silence.
Roger flipped the switch.
"Purupurupuru… Purupurupuru…"
The Transponder Snail mimicked the sound of dialing, its eyes staring blankly.
"Click."
In an unknown part of the Grand Line, deep beneath the sea, was a place forbidden to light, a graveyard of sound. Here, silence and darkness were the eternal masters.
The massive corpse of a giant anglerfish, large enough to swallow a small island, floated silently in the dead water. The huge lure on its head, which once glowed with an alluring light, was now extinguished, hanging dimly like a withered branch. The stench of decay filled the surrounding sea.
A lone figure sat on top of the massive corpse. Kyle's clothes were stained with monster slime and dried blood, with several holes corroded through the fabric. He had been sitting there for a very, very long time. His golden eyes were slightly dim as he stared blankly at the anglerfish's huge, now-dull bioluminescent organ.
There was nothing inside. No "Pure Gold" that could supposedly stop the flow of time. Nothing at all.
It had been a year. A year of chasing ancient legends, venturing through dangerous seas, and fighting countless monsters. A year of sending those so-called legendary elixirs to Roger, each one feeling more like a desperate scam than the last. His greatest hope had been this creature.
The result was emptiness.
A crushing sense of disappointment and powerlessness squeezed in from all sides, heavier than the deep-sea pressure itself.
Just then, a sudden ringing shattered the deadly silence.
"Purupurupuru… Purupurupuru…"
The Transponder Snail in his coat rang, its eyes, mimicking Roger's, blinking anxiously. Kyle's body jolted as if struck by lightning. He stiffly pulled out the Transponder Snail and answered.
"...Roger." His voice was hoarse, as if it had been scraped raw with sandpaper.
"Kuhahaha! So you're still alive, you rascal!" Roger's characteristic hearty laugh boomed from the other end, sounding as vibrant as ever. "I thought you'd been eaten as a snack by some Sea King."
Hearing that voice, the string in Kyle's heart, which had been stretched to its absolute limit, suddenly snapped. An uncontrollable panic surged through him, and the words came tumbling out.
"Roger! I found it! The legendary giant anglerfish! The source of 'Pure Gold'—I found it!" He took a ragged breath, his voice trembling in a way he didn't even notice. "But this can't be the only one! The legend can't be wrong! Just give me a little more time, and I'll find the next one! I'll definitely find the 'Pure Gold'! Then you can—"
"Kyle."
Roger's gentle voice, like a warm hand, pressed down on his frantic tone. Kyle's words came to an abrupt halt.
"Enough."
On the other end of the line, Roger's voice was soft, but it carried an undeniable weight. There was no blame, no disappointment, only a deep, reassuring calm.
"What… enough?" Kyle choked out, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. "I haven't found it… I can still cure you!"
"I haven't given up, you idiot," Roger chuckled softly. "We've arrived. The Final Island is right in front of us."
Final Island…
Those words exploded like thunder in Kyle's chaotic mind. He froze. Of course. It had been a year. While he was off chasing impossible legends, his friends had been riding the waves, about to reach the culmination of their dream.
"This journey was a tough one," Roger's tone carried a hint of emotion, and a subtle weariness Kyle could now hear clearly. "That bewildering mist, the storms that could overturn the sky… The crew was talking about you every day." Roger paused, then laughed. "Those bastards have practically turned you into a god."
Kyle listened in silence, his fingers gripping the Transponder Snail so tightly his knuckles turned white. He could picture it all—his friends in danger, calling his name.
"So," Roger's voice softened again, "come back, Kyle."
"But your illness…"
"That's my own problem," Roger interrupted, his tone becoming more serious than it had ever been. "My journey is mine to finish. Do you understand?"
Kyle remained silent.
"I'm about to become the Pirate King," Roger's voice boomed once more, filled with that familiar, unparalleled grandeur. "If you miss such an important moment, I'll never forgive you! Besides, if you're not there, that kid Buggy will brag to everyone that he was the one who found the Final Island. You have to come back and keep him in line! Kuhahaha!"
The familiar joke struck Kyle's heart like a heavy hammer.
"We'll wait for you at the last island," Roger's voice reached him clearly, carried across thousands of miles of ocean. "The celebration feast wouldn't be complete without you."
"...Okay."
After a long pause, Kyle finally squeezed that single word from his throat.
He hung up and carefully put the Transponder Snail back in his coat. Then, he slowly stood up on the enormous monster's corpse. His desperate gamble against time had failed.
But maybe… it wasn't a complete loss.
Next, it was time to go home.
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