Chapter 52 – Sorry, I Can’t Find a Smaller Cup Than This (Patreon)

It wasn’t the already legendary pirates who made the first move—it was a streak of blue flame that tore across the sky.

“Oh ya!”

From the deck of the Moby Dick, young Marco shot into the air like a green comet, a pair of radiant wings of blue fire unfurling behind him. His leap was graceful, yet deadly, aimed not at Roger or Rayleigh, but directly at a boy of similar age on the Oro Jackson—Shanks.

Flaming claws materialized, radiating searing heat as they slashed downward toward their target.

“Good timing!” Shanks’ eyes blazed with a fiery determination. He tapped his toes, allowing his body to recoil slightly, narrowly avoiding the sharp edges of the blazing claws. His saber, still slightly cumbersome for his young frame, rose from bottom to top in a clever arc.

Clang!

Metal met fire with a ringing resonance, the sound echoing across the deck.

Marco, thwarted, flapped his wings with effortless grace, flipping midair and landing smoothly on the deck. Even his perpetually sleepy eyes betrayed a glint of respect for his opponent.

Across the ship, another young powerhouse prepared to land: Diamond Jozu, his broad, square-jawed form descending onto the Oro Jackson with all the serenity of a mountain. Unlike Marco, he made no immediate attack. Arms crossed, his body radiated a faint, translucent shimmer in the sunlight—rocklike, unyielding.

“Hey… hey, Shanks, that guy… he looks like a rock!” Buggy whispered from behind Shanks, swallowing nervously.

Then, as Jozu turned his shoulder slightly, sunlight struck him just right, refracting into a dazzling spectrum.

“Diamond?!” Buggy’s eyes went wide.

Gone were thoughts of fear. Instead, visions of treasure danced through his mind. Mountains of Berries… rare gems… priceless loot!

“Die! You walking treasure chest!” Buggy shouted, eyes sparkling with greed. He darted forward, daggers raised, bypassing Shanks to strike at Jozu’s back.

“Hmm?” Jozu barely moved, lowering his shoulder just enough.

Clang! Clang!

The impact reverberated through Buggy’s arms. The daggers bounced off an impossibly hard surface. Stars danced before his eyes.

“So… so hard!” Buggy gasped. Undeterred, he resorted to wild clawing, biting, and kicking—an utterly ludicrous display of greed-driven combat that left the nearby pirates slack-jawed.

With these half-grown prodigies leading the charge, the decks of both ships erupted. The younger generation of the Whitebeard Pirates clashed with the apprentice crew of the Roger Pirates, weapon strikes echoing alongside crude shouts and pirate curses.

Kyle leaned against the rail, golden eyes observing the chaotic melee with amused detachment.

Go, Shanks! Slash him!
Super effective!
Marco uses Claw Attack! Miss!

His gaze wandered to a young man with a small mustache and a rapier at his side: Vista, later known as "Flower Sword."

As if sensing Kyle’s scrutiny, Vista met his gaze. Those eyes gleamed with the sharp precision of a swordsman. Kyle smirked, extending an imaginary invitation.

Oh, don’t take it personally, young man. I’m just looking for someone to spar with before dinner.

Then, the colossal auras that had defined Roger and Whitebeard’s initial clash reached their crescendo.

“Kuhahaha! Warm-up’s over, Newgate!”

“Gurararara! The main course is just beginning, Roger!”

The two figures vanished from their respective figureheads, colliding violently midair between the ships.

Roger’s Ace, wrapped in black-and-red Conqueror’s Haki, roared as it slashed downward. Across from him, Whitebeard’s Murakumogiri, radiating a pure white aura, swung with earth-shattering force.

Buzz!

At the point of contact, the air itself seemed to fracture. Spiderweb-like cracks spread, tearing the space between them. Clouds scattered, the sea surface beneath them bowed unnaturally, refusing to settle. Even Kyle, standing on the deck, could feel the pressure.

Is this… the power of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit? he thought.

The two men were forced back by the sheer force, landing firmly on each other’s decks.

“What terrifying power, Newgate!” Roger exclaimed, shaking his numb arm, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“Your Haki… has grown monstrous, Roger!” Whitebeard replied, slamming Murakumogiri into the deck with a Crack!

“Hey! Old man, you’re breaking our ship!”

“Roger! That deck isn’t cheap!”

Crew members on both vessels wailed as the aftershocks swept through the decks. Even the young combatants froze, staring dumbfounded at the godlike clash above them. The competitive fire that had driven their earlier skirmishes was replaced by awe and admiration.

Kyle, ever composed, appeared before Vista as if by magic. His black-and-gold naginata twirled in his hand, reflecting the sunlight in arcs.

“Care for a glass of orange juice?” he asked lightly.

Vista, pride flaring, could not ignore the man before him, the long-renowned Wave Motion King, Kyle, a pirate worth billions in Berries. Without a word, his rapier White Fish flew from its sheath, striking toward Kyle’s throat like silver lightning.

The sword’s speed was blinding, accompanied by the faint swirl of falling rose petals—the hallmark of his future signature, “Flower Sword.”

Kyle didn’t move his feet. He lifted a wooden cup of orange juice, intercepting the rapier’s tip.

Ding!

Not even a ripple disturbed the juice inside.

“The wrist is too rigid,” Kyle said casually. “You prioritize speed over variation. A technique without depth is wasted effort.”

Vista’s eyes narrowed. He flicked his wrist, twisting the blade to bypass the cup, aiming to slice Kyle’s hand. Yet, Kyle merely rotated the cup with subtle skill.

Ding!

Again, the cup blocked the strike, almost dancing with the swirling blades. Kyle even brought it to his lips, sipping leisurely as if savoring the moment.

“Bastard!” Vista roared, red-faced. His attacks intensified into a blinding storm of silver light—“Rose Waltz!” he unleashed, petals of steel spiraling like deadly flowers.

Kyle remained calm, letting the cup guide, tap, and parry at impossible angles, intercepting the furious assault. Ding! Ding! Clang! Clang! Ding!

“This move… flashy, but impractical,” Kyle commented casually.

“Oh? Lower body attacks are beneath a gentleman!”

“Careful, you’ll dirty my cup!”

Finally, with patience waning, Kyle seized the moment. Dodging a fatal strike, he tapped Vista’s wrist with the cup.

Pop!

A strange vibration ran up the sword. White Fish slipped from Vista’s grasp, embedding into a nearby mast, hilt still vibrating.

The surrounding pirates were stunned. A single wooden cup of orange juice had bested their talented swordsman.

Kyle retrieved his cup calmly, smiling apologetically at Vista.

“Sorry, got a bit carried away. I just… couldn’t find a smaller cup than this.”

Vista fumed, understanding the gulf between his skill and this golden-eyed man.

Meanwhile, the main event continued.

“God Avoidance!” Roger’s figure blurred behind Whitebeard. Ace crackled with black-and-red lightning.

Whitebeard countered without even turning, a halo of white vibrating energy radiating from his fist. Space shattered as the two forces collided, shockwaves shaking both ships violently.

“Fight in the sky, you two bastards!” Rayleigh yelled, blocking attacks left and right.

“Your Devil Fruit is impressive, Newgate!” Roger shouted, leaping again.

“Your Haki grows monstrous, Roger!” Whitebeard responded, gripping Murakumogiri with both hands, energy thickening around him.

Sword light and shockwaves intertwined. Haki collided with Haki. The sea trembled, cracks in the sky stubbornly lingering. Water swirled unnaturally. The clash was no longer combat—it was a natural disaster.

Finally, they separated, landing back on their ships. Roger’s pink shirt was torn, breath ragged, but eyes gleaming with triumph. Whitebeard bore subtle scars and pulsing veins, yet wore his exhilaration proudly.

“Roger… this time… you win!” Whitebeard laughed, conceding gracefully.

“Kuhahaha! Next time, Newgate, the outcome may differ!” Roger replied, Ace still raised in mock salute.

The legendary clash concluded in the most piratical fashion.

Kyle sipped the last of his orange juice, observing the chaos and laughter on both decks, a playful smirk curving his lips. Adventure, camaraderie, and the purest pirate spirit were alive in every breath of the wind.


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