Chapter 50 – Hidden Worries (Patreon)

Days passed like waves rolling endlessly across the vast sea, each one marked by the clash of swords, hearty laughter, and the constant, soothing rhythm of the ocean.

The Oro Jackson, a ship carrying the freest men in the world, sliced through the New World’s waters, riding the wind, breaking the waves, and leaving a trail of excitement in its wake. Every adventure was new, every horizon a promise of wonder, and the crew’s faces reflected unbridled curiosity and the thrill of conquering the unknown.

Yet, amid this tapestry of laughter and freedom, there existed a dark corner in Kyle’s heart—a reef of worry that sunlight could never reach.

He stood at the bow, sea breeze tangling his black hair, golden eyes staring toward the horizon where the sun melted into the water. The orange juice in his hand remained untouched. His mind, unlike the vibrant energy of the crew, was heavy with unspoken concerns.

On the deck, Roger was bare-chested, arm-wrestling Jabba. The surrounding crew roared their bets, cheering loudly as Roger’s signature “Kuhahaha” laughter sliced through the air.

Once upon a time, that very laughter had been Kyle’s anchor. It had been a sound that reassured him amid the chaos of the vast ocean, a melody that promised safety. If a cry of “Captain, save me!” rang out, Roger’s laughter was there to chase away the fear. If two cries rose, still, Roger’s laughter had the power to calm them.

But now, that same sound felt like a tiny needle, occasionally pricking the taut nerves of Kyle’s heart.

Nearly thirty years had passed. From the moment he had arrived in this world as a transmigrator who knew the Pirate King era by heart, to now, living among the pirates of the Oro Jackson, time had a way of eroding even the sharpest memories.

Kyle had tried, tirelessly, to preserve knowledge of future events. He had recorded, memorized, even inscribed the tiniest details. Yet every record, no matter how secure, had a way of mysteriously disappearing—as if some unseen force sought to “correct” reality. The clear lines of history he once held were now blurred sketches, missing key details.

He remembered only fragments: Roger’s inevitable disease, his eventual surrender, the dawn of the Great Pirate Era. But the critical intricacies of those events were veiled by the ongoing tide of daily adventure. This uncertainty weighed on Kyle, a Sword of Damocles hanging invisibly over his heart.

“Hey! Roger! Are you slacking off?! Your strength is weak!” Jabba’s face was red, veins bulging from exertion, but his voice was steady and defiant.

“Kuhahaha! You’re just old, Jabba!” Roger laughed louder, muscles flexing as he pressed Jabba’s arm onto the wine barrel.

“Oh oh oh oh! Captain wins!” the crew shouted.

Kyle put down his untouched orange juice and strolled casually closer. Pretending to watch the excitement, he gently placed a hand on Roger’s shoulder.

“Captain, you’ve got a lot of energy today. Want to see how you fare against me?” Kyle’s smile was sly, teasing.

“Oh? Kyle? Come on! Let’s see what you’ve got!” Roger responded eagerly, spinning around to face him.

The instant their eyes met, an imperceptible ripple spread from Kyle’s golden gaze. Subtle electromagnetic waves emanated from his hand and eyes, scanning Roger’s body with the precision of the finest instruments. This wasn’t a first; Kyle often found excuses to “check” Roger under the guise of casual interactions.

Roger noticed the attention but assumed Kyle was merely looking for weak points.

Weak points, indeed.

Through Kyle’s vision, every detail of Roger’s body was visible. His heart thumped strongly, lungs drew in and expelled sea air steadily, bones solid as iron, muscle fibers taut like perfectly strung cables. Every cell radiated vitality and raw energy. There were no injuries, no weaknesses, nothing to suggest the body of a man nearing mortality. Standing before him was Roger in his prime—the perfect pirate, unmatched across the seas.

“Hey Kyle, why are you so quiet?” Roger asked, tilting his head. “Scared by my Haki? Kuhahaha!”

Kyle’s tense shoulders loosened. He withdrew his ability, the carefree mask returning to his expression.

“Nothing, just checking if Captain, a single-celled organism, has a different structure from ours.”

“Bastard! Who do you call a single-celled organism? Big king, small king, can’t you tell the difference?” Roger lunged playfully, and the two tumbled in laughter.

Rayleigh observed quietly nearby, sipping wine. His eyes reflected a depth of understanding. Kyle’s frequent glances at Roger were no longer casual—he was examining something precious, fragile.

As night fell, the waves hummed gently against the hull. Kyle sat in the crow’s nest alone, staring at the stars.

Really… nothing?

He had checked multiple times, with the same result—no trace of a “plot kill” within Roger’s body.

Was it his fault?

He thought of the butterfly effect: a flap in South America could trigger a tornado in Texas. He, a massive variable intruding into the Pirate King world, had lived alongside the Roger Pirates for thirty years. Could his presence have altered Roger’s fate?

The thought both thrilled and terrified him.

If Roger would not die… could the ship truly sail forever? Could they reach Laugh Tale together, witness the world’s truths? And then… what would come after?

Kyle’s lips curved into a wild, almost reckless smile at the thought of such a future.

Yet reason intervened. Perhaps it was simply not the right time. The original timeline was already uncertain; Roger’s illness might still erupt at some point. His current vigor did not guarantee immortality. Two possibilities clashed violently in Kyle’s mind: hope and fear, soaring to the clouds one moment and plummeting into the abyss the next. The turmoil was more exhausting than controlling hundreds of conflicting currents at once.

“What are you thinking about, smiling up here all alone?” Rayleigh’s voice came softly. He had climbed the crow’s nest and sat beside Kyle, eyes reflecting the starlight.

“Just pondering the mysteries of life, the meaning of existence,” Kyle replied casually, hiding the storm within.

Rayleigh smiled knowingly, handing Kyle a bottle of rum. “Sometimes, overthinking makes you miss the scenery in front of you. We’re pirates, Kyle. Freedom is our creed. Live in the present.”

Kyle took a deep swig, the fiery liquid warming his chest. Not as sweet as orange juice, yet satisfying.

Yes… live in the present.

Worrying over uncontrollable futures was pointless. All he could do was cherish these days, grow stronger, and become a pillar capable of supporting the ship in any storm.

Understanding this, the heavy stone of anxiety that had weighed on him seemed to lift. Though the mists of the future were thick, his vision cleared, resolute.

“You’re right, Rayleigh,” Kyle said with a grin, teeth flashing in the starlight. “Better to focus on practical matters… like where to rob for our next meal… or resupply.”

“Kuhahaha! Speaking of that,” Roger’s booming voice interrupted. Somehow, he had climbed to the edge of the crow’s nest. “I heard about a ‘Gourmet Island’ ahead! Ingredients fighting each other! Sounds fun!”

“Captain! That sounds dangerous!” Buggy squeaked, voice trembling.

“More fun when there’s a fight!” Shanks replied eagerly.

The deck erupted in chatter once again.

Kyle looked down at his lively companions, the chaos, the laughter, and the endless energy. A warm, genuine smile spread across his face.

Forget it. Let the future worry itself. For now, this troublesome captain and these hopelessly idiotic companions were alive and kicking, right by his side.

That was enough.

He raised his bottle to the night sky and to his heart.

To this damned freedom.


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