Inside the quiet tavern, lit only by warm lantern light, Old Tucker spoke with a weathered voice—slow, steady, but carrying the weight of an era.
Whenever he reached the part where he once crossed blades with a great pirate, his eyes burned with a fire that had never gone out.
Kuzan and Gion sat across from him, listening without blinking.
Boa coiled lazily beside their table, its massive body resting but its amber eyes half-open, as if even it could feel the pressure in Tucker's voice.
---
"The Rocks Pirates…" Tucker paused, took a slow drink, then continued,
"…that crew almost ruled the entire sea."
Even the sound of cups being set down went silent.
"That monster, Rocks D. Xebe, gathered people who should've never stood together. We weren't fighting a pirate crew… we were fighting a storm."
He tapped the table, and the lantern light cast moving shadows across the carved reliefs on the wall—each one recording a life-or-death battle.
"Whitebeard, Big Mom, Kaido, Shiki, Captain John, Silver Axe, Wang Zhi… any one of them could command an era."
Kuzan's expression sharpened.
Gion leaned forward without realizing it.
"And their captain—Xebec—" Tucker's voice lowered, "—if it weren't for Garp, Sengoku, Kong, and a few of us throwing our lives into that war… the world you know wouldn't exist."
The tavern felt like it had shrunk into a single moment of history.
Even Boa had stopped moving.
---
Tucker continued, listing names with the tone of a man who had seen death too many times to fear it:
"Gol D. Roger—more dangerous than anyone expected."
"Silvers Rayleigh—calm as the ocean before a storm."
"Monkey D. Garp—if he punches you, even the sea holds its breath."
"Don Chinjao, Barrett, Redfield…"
Kuzan's eyes narrowed at Redfield's name.
Tucker noticed.
"…You've met him, boy, haven't you?"
Kuzan didn't deny it—only said quietly:
"I survived. That's all."
Tucker nodded once. "Then you understand. Knowledge saves lives more than pride ever will. Remember the names, the powers, the habits—because one day, it may be your turn to carve a story into that wall."
---
The drinks kept coming.
So did the stories.
And the night felt like it belonged to the old and the young at the same time.
Lieutenant General Momonga raised his glass.
"To the navy's future."
Kuzan tapped his cup against his without hesitation.
Gion smiled faintly and followed.
Boa leaned forward, swallowed a full barrel whole, and let out a rumbling burp that shook the table.
Everyone laughed.
Even Tucker—just once—cracked a smile.
---
They left the tavern as friends, not just comrades.
Kuzan and Gion walked side by side under the street lamps of Marineford, exchanging fragments of their time apart—half teasing, half sincere.
Boa slithered behind them, dragging a large tied sack of leftover meat like luggage.
When they reached the path where they would separate, Gion paused.
"…Welcome back."
Kuzan grinned. "Didn't I tell you? A handsome man like me never dies early."
She rolled her eyes and turned away, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her.
Kuzan headed home. The villa was clean—kept that way because the Fleet Admiral had ordered it.
Boa immediately claimed the cellar, coiled around the wine barrels, and fell asleep like a king of snakes.
Kuzan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the past year—
training, blood, a dead friend, a broken island, Redfield's blade, and a teacher's tears.
For the first time in months, he slept peacefully.
Tomorrow, everything continued.
But tonight, he was home.
---
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