"Tsk, tsk, tsk—Rockstar just got completely ignored."
"Kid, you're awfully arrogant," Shanks laughed.
"It's over—captain just roasted Rockstar. Looks like that 'trainee' tag's getting extended forever," Yasopp joked.
"Damn it! I'll stake my will as a man—fight me, man to man!" Rockstar glared at Satan. "You little punk are far too full of yourself!"
"Oho, a duel between men—this should be good. Will our proud brat accept?" Shanks smiled. Being interrupted by Rockstar, he let the other matters wait. He was curious about the future too, but not now.
"I've no reason to refuse a duel staked on a man's will," Satan said. "But since it's a duel, there should be spoils. If I win, what do I get?"
"If you win, do whatever you want with me!" Rockstar snapped.
"I'm not interested in men," Satan said evenly.
"Then what if you lose?" Rockstar shot back.
"I won't lose."
"Don't get cocky, brat," Shanks reminded him. "If you lose, what's the price? Bets on both sides make it fair."
"The future," Satan said.
"?"
"If I lose, I'll tell you the future you want to know. If I win, Red-Hair teaches me swordsmanship."
"A bold kid—sounds like my swordsmanship was your goal from the start," Shanks chuckled. "I'll accept that on Rockstar's behalf."
"Captain!" Rockstar blinked.
"Do your best. Don't lose. If you win, I'll give you a few pointers too," Shanks clapped his shoulder.
"Yes, captain!" Rockstar's fighting spirit surged. Instruction from a Yonko was rare even for a trainee. Beat this irritating brat and he'd earn it.
"Terrifying fighting spirit. The youngsters these days are scary," the Red-Haired crew muttered as they cleared an open space for the duel—everyone loved a good show.
"So? Who wins?"
"Rockstar's my crewmate; I'll wager a fine keg on him," Lucky Roux said around a mouthful of meat.
"Even so, Satan uses Conqueror's Haki," Benn Beckman said quietly. "He could stand his ground between the captain and Whitebeard. With Rockstar's will, that shock alone might be too much."
"Rockstar, don't get flattened by the kid's Conqueror's," Yasopp warned.
Rockstar's face stiffened. "Uh… can you not use Conqueror's Haki?" he ventured. Shameful or not, if a man with a king's aptitude blasted him senseless, that would be mortifying—and he aimed to be a great pirate.
"Fine," Satan nodded. No reason to steamroll him with Conqueror's. Better to see how far his two colors had come. Ninety-four million—close to a hundred. Rockstar shouldn't be weaker than the Great Whirlpool Spider.
"Good. Then here I come!" Rockstar drew a long blade, stamped forward, and cleaved down. His eyes turned razor-sharp; the edge roared like a splitting wave. He opened with everything he had.
No matter how fierce the storm, Satan seemed to know every strike before it came. He moved like the wind, untraceable, and Rockstar's downpour of slashes never so much as grazed him.
"Observation Haki! A monster out of the Whitebeard Pirates—so young and he's mastered two colors," Yasopp breathed.
"Three," Shanks' eyes narrowed. Young as he was, a clear novice in experience, Satan's power was extreme. At the same age, even Shanks had been far behind.
As he spoke, black Armament flowed over Satan's hand.
Bang.
Satan's fist crashed into Rockstar's forehead. One blow put Rockstar on the deck.
"Defeated," Satan said coolly.
"I… lost?" Rockstar stared in disbelief. So easily?
"One shot to drop a near–hundred-million rookie? He's our best trainee," Yasopp murmured, stunned. The fight had ended that simply.
"The world's about to change. With talent like that, in a few years he'll rival an admiral. The Navy's going to have headaches," the crew whispered, shaken.
"I've won. Now, teach me swordsmanship," Satan said with a grin.