Chapter 47 – Five Years (Patreon)

Five years had passed. The ocean remained vast, its waves ebbing and flowing like the relentless march of time. On the deck of the Oro Jackson, the sun shone brightly, painting everything in gold, yet the source of the commotion had shifted dramatically.

“Idiot, Shanks! I told you the north is the end of the Grand Line! Don’t you even know that?”

“Buggy, you’re the idiot! Captain Roger said the end of an adventure can’t be judged by common sense! It could even be in the east!”

Two little brats, their heads barely reaching halfway up the railing, bickered furiously over a question with no true answer. One had fiery red hair, the other bright blue, like two over-energetic little fighters destined to clash at every turn.

Kyle leaned in the shadow of the main mast, slowly wiping his beloved naginata. Its polished blade reflected a cold gleam under the sun. Watching the two brats argue, a smile unconsciously tugged at his lips.

Five years had changed much. Kyle himself had matured, approaching thirty. Roger had grown a familiar mustache and adopted the classic skin of a seasoned pirate, rugged yet full of vitality.

After the legendary Battle of God Valley, the world’s order had been shaken.

Garp, already a living legend, refused promotion to Admiral despite the Marine Headquarters’ insistence. Instead, they bestowed upon him the title of “Marine Hero,” a designation now more feared across the Grand Line than some Admirals themselves.

Meanwhile, the scattered remnants of the Rocks Pirates, who had fled God Valley in disarray, had become monsters of the New World. Whitebeard, Golden Lion Shiki, and Charlotte Linlin (Big Mom) were frantically recruiting allies, carving their own territories with unrelenting ambition.

The seas had never been more chaotic—or more fascinating.

Rayleigh, sitting on a nearby step with a newspaper in hand, furrowed his brows.

“That Zephyr fellow… he retired to the second line,” he murmured, a trace of regret in his tone. “His family was killed by pirates. That blow… it was too much for him.”

Kyle paused mid-wipe, reflecting on the tragic story of “Black Arm” Zephyr, a Marine Admiral betrayed by the very order he had devoted his life to protecting. The injustice still stung.

He glanced over at a small corner of the newspaper. A modest news item mentioned two names: Sakazuki and Borsalino, reportedly the most promising rookies in that year’s Marine training camp.

Ara ara… isn’t that the Red Dog and the Yellow Monkey?

Time moved inexorably forward, history rolling like a relentless tide.

Suddenly, a familiar, high-pitched shout broke through his thoughts.

“Hey! Kyle-bro! You be the judge!”

Red-Haired Shanks, now a lively, mischievous child, ran over, fuming. “Buggy here said treasure is more important than adventure itself!”

The blue-haired Buggy followed closely, pointing at Shanks’ nose. “What do you know! Without treasure, how will we buy food? Weapons? You’re just a daydreamer!”

Kyle looked at the two brats—one an idealist, the other a pragmatic treasure-lover—and couldn’t help but chuckle.

He extended two fingers, flicking each child on the forehead.

“Thump!” “Thump!”

Both brats squatted down immediately, clutching their heads in mock agony.

“If you have too much energy, go scrub the deck a hundred times.”

“A hundred times?!” Buggy wailed. “That’ll kill us!”

Kyle smirked. “Then two hundred.”

With an exaggerated groan, the two grudgingly picked up brushes and buckets, beginning their tedious labor. They immediately began arguing over whose territory they were scrubbing, and the crew burst into laughter.

Jabba leaned against the railing beside Kyle. “You really have a way with those two. I remember when you first came aboard… you were even more troublesome than both of them combined.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Cough cough… was I?”

“Remember someone getting beaten by Roger the first time they laid eyes on me?” he teased, grinning.

Jabba’s old face flushed. He coughed, then hastily changed the subject. “Speaking of which… where did you pick up that Buggy kid? Two years ago, when we went to that abandoned port for supplies, you just brought him back on a whim.”

Kyle’s mind wandered back.

Buggy had been a homeless orphan, rummaging for scraps. Thin, unremarkable… the perfect definition of overlooked. Kyle, feeling a spark of pity, had brought him aboard without much thought. At the time, he never imagined that this mischievous blue-haired brat—forever obsessed with treasure—would grow into the infamous Clown Emperor.

It wasn’t until an “incident” shortly after Buggy joined that Kyle realized the boy’s remarkable luck.

Roger had returned with a chest overflowing with glimmering treasure. The crew gathered around, excited to divide the spoils. Buggy, naturally, rushed first, hugging a golden goblet larger than himself. Drool threatened to escape from his wide grin.

Shanks, on the other hand, barely glanced at the gold. He was more interested in weapons and any clues hinting at adventure. One moved objects aside, the other dove straight in, and… the heavy chest lid slammed down with a bang.

The deck froze. Only Buggy’s pitiful wail echoed.

When everyone lifted the lid, they found Buggy clutching his nose. His nostrils had been squashed into a comical round shape, red as a cherry. At that moment, Kyle’s mind felt as though struck by lightning.

It’s really you… Great God Buggy!

Back in the present, Shanks, scrubbing the deck with intense focus, suddenly pointed upward.

“Hey! Buggy! Look!”

Buggy instinctively looked up. In that instant, Shanks, with lightning speed, splashed a bucket of dirty water all over him.

“Splash—!”

Buggy turned into a drenched, miserable mess. After a brief moment of stunned silence, he let out a thunderous roar:

“Shanks—! You little—! I’ll get you!”

The two brats wrestled, rolling across the slippery deck.

“Kuhahahahaha!” Roger’s booming laughter rang out from the Captain’s quarters. “So energetic! That’s great!”

Rayleigh sighed, laying down the newspaper. “Roger, if you don’t control them, they’ll dismantle the ship.”

“Kids fighting strengthens their bond!” Roger waved him off, grinning. Then, eyes lighting on Kyle, he exclaimed, “Kyle! Come practice with me! My bones feel rusty!”

Kyle groaned. “Are you a kid too?!”

Reluctantly, he stood, shouldering his naginata, a weapon honed through years of training and battles. In the five years since the Battle of God Valley, he had mastered his Boba Fruit abilities, refined his physical techniques, and honed his Haki beyond what most mortals could dream of—daily sparring with legends like Roger and Rayleigh had made him unstoppable.

“Roger,” he said, resting the naginata on his shoulder, “if you lose this time, that barrel of your precious rum is mine.”

“Kuhahahahaha! Wait until you win first! Besides, you don’t even drink!” Roger shot back.

The two met in the center of the deck, while Shanks and Buggy paused their play to watch. Other crew members gathered, excited to witness the clash.

Roger drew his saber, Ace, its blackened armament Haki rippling outward. The air seemed to freeze.

Kyle’s naginata touched the deck, vibrating with an otherworldly energy. A swing cut through the air, generating a sharp, sonorous hum.

The air along the blade’s path compressed violently, exploding into a shockwave shaped like a phoenix spreading its wings.

Roger advanced. Ace gleamed with black Haki as he slashed through the shockwave with his own devastating force.

“God Avoidance!”

Boom—!!!

Two forces collided mid-deck. Air rippled violently, knocking crew members off balance. Shanks and Buggy were hurled like rolling gourds, only stopping when they slammed into the mast.

“S-Sugoi…” Shanks whispered, eyes wide with awe, heart pounding at the display of his captain’s famous technique.

Buggy rubbed his sore backside, glancing between Kyle’s cool composure and Roger’s overwhelming presence. For the first time, he felt a spark of ambition beyond mere treasure.

Kyle gripped his naginata, the blade humming in his hands. Sunshine, waves, loyal companions, mischievous brats, and the strongest opponent he had ever faced—this was what life on the Oro Jackson felt like.

How cool, he thought, smiling beneath the sunlight.

The ship sailed onward, the waves carrying both its legends and its chaos into the horizon.


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