Silvers Rayleigh.
The identity of their late-night visitor needed no introduction to anyone who understood the true legends of the sea.
"I don't recall meeting such a generous benefactor," Rayleigh said with mild amusement, shaking his empty wine bottle with the casual air of someone accustomed to finding himself in interesting situations. "How exactly should I express my gratitude?"
"He's the escaped slave the Navy's been hunting," Shakky interjected with characteristic directness, exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling.
Her revelation was unnecessary—Rayleigh had recognized Oboro the moment the younger man removed his disguise. The scars marking his face told their own story, and the wanted posters plastered throughout Sabaody had made those features familiar to anyone paying attention to recent events.
"Could I trouble someone of your... reputation to help me remove this?" Oboro asked, pulling aside his collar to fully reveal the explosive device locked around his throat.
The slave collar gleamed dully in the bar's subdued lighting, its sophisticated design speaking to both Celestial Dragon cruelty and their access to advanced technology. The device was a masterpiece of psychological warfare—constant reminder of servitude combined with the ever-present threat of instant death.
Rayleigh studied the collar without speaking, his expression thoughtful as he evaluated both the technical challenge and the implications of providing assistance.
Shakky broke the contemplative silence by sliding a fresh glass of sake across the counter. "He did cover your tab," she reminded the old pirate with obvious amusement.
"Well then..." Rayleigh's weathered features creased into a genuine smile. "I suppose I'll have to make an attempt. After all, I'm rather short on funds these days. My gambling luck has been absolutely terrible recently."
The self-deprecating comment was delivered with such casual humor that it almost disguised the weight of what he was agreeing to undertake. Helping an escaped Celestial Dragon slave represented a direct challenge to World Government authority—not something any rational person would consider lightly.
Rayleigh rose from his seat with fluid grace that belied his apparent age, moving to stand directly in front of Oboro. The escaped slave stood as well, meeting the legendary pirate's gaze with steady composure that spoke volumes about his character.
"As expected of Celestial Dragon property," Rayleigh observed, leaning forward to examine the collar more closely. His trained eyes tracked across the device's surface, cataloguing defensive mechanisms and potential weak points with the expertise of someone who had encountered such technology before. "This is significantly more sophisticated than standard slave collars. Much more... problematic to remove safely."
He straightened slightly, fixing Oboro with a direct stare that seemed to peer into his very soul. "There's a real possibility this could kill you. The Celestial Dragons don't appreciate their property attempting independence."
Dom swallowed nervously, his enhanced senses picking up the genuine concern in Rayleigh's tone. The casual way the Dark King discussed potential death sent ice through the transformed pirate's veins.
"I understand the risks," Oboro replied with unshakeable calm. "Please proceed."
His composure in the face of mortal danger was remarkable—no trembling hands, no racing heartbeat, just the steady resolve of someone who had already accepted whatever consequences might follow. Such mental fortitude was rare even among seasoned criminals.
Rayleigh nodded approvingly and reached out with both hands, his weathered fingers grasping the collar's edges with surgical precision. As he began to exert pressure, his arms took on a distinctive metallic sheen—the unmistakable black coating of Armament Haki flowing across his skin like liquid armor.
Oboro's attention sharpened immediately, his enhanced perception drinking in every detail of the power display unfolding inches from his face. This was exactly what he had come to witness—not just the collar's removal, but direct observation of Haki in action.
He was studying the flow of spiritual energy, the way Rayleigh's will manifested as tangible force, the precise control required to channel such power without wasting effort. Every nuance was being catalogued and analyzed by a mind that had mastered multiple power systems across different realities.
Click.
The first fracture appeared along the collar's surface—a hairline crack that spread rapidly as Rayleigh's enhanced strength found purchase against the device's defensive systems. Sparks began dancing across the metal surface as internal components registered catastrophic structural failure.
The Dark King's glasses reflected the growing electrical discharge as he crushed the collar with methodical precision, his Haki-enhanced grip preventing any premature detonation. Then, with explosive speed that turned his elderly form into a blur of motion, he tore the device free and launched himself toward the bar's exit.
BOOM!
The explosion that followed shook the entire building, rattling windows and sending vibrations through the floor that Dom could feel in his bones. The sound was deafening—a thunderclap that suggested the collar had contained enough explosive force to level half a city block.
When the echoes finally faded and Rayleigh returned through the smoke-filled doorway, his appearance told the story of his narrow escape. Black soot covered his clothes and skin, his normally neat hair stood at odd angles, but most remarkably, he showed no signs of injury whatsoever.
"That was genuinely dangerous," he admitted with the casual tone of someone discussing the weather rather than near-death experience. The old pirate settled back into his chair as if nothing particularly noteworthy had occurred.
"Boss!" Dom's voice cracked with relief and excitement as he turned toward Oboro.
The removal of that cursed collar represented more than just freedom from immediate death—it was symbolic liberation from the Celestial Dragons' claim of ownership. Whatever happened next, at least Oboro wouldn't face execution by remote detonation.
Dom found himself studying Rayleigh with newfound respect and growing confusion. The explosive speed and casual handling of such a dangerous device spoke to capabilities far beyond anything he'd witnessed during his pirate career. Who exactly was this seemingly ordinary old drunk?
He'd never heard whispers of such a formidable individual residing on Sabaody Archipelago, which suggested either incredible discretion or recognition that transcended normal criminal networks.
"Thank you," Oboro said simply, his gratitude genuine despite the understated delivery.
"Think nothing of it," Rayleigh replied, raising his freshly filled sake cup in a casual toast. "Now we're even—your generosity for my technical expertise."
The exchange was conducted with the easy camaraderie of equals, though Dom sensed undercurrents he couldn't quite decipher. There was mutual evaluation occurring beneath the surface politeness, each man taking the measure of the other.
Oboro hadn't possessed any guarantee that Rayleigh would agree to help him. The entire gambit had been based on calculated psychology and intimate knowledge of the Dark King's character—information that should have been impossible for an escaped slave to possess.
This meeting represented both achievement and opportunity. The collar's removal was merely the opening move in a much larger game.
"So," Rayleigh continued with deceptive casualness, "how exactly did you learn about me?"
The question carried weight that transformed the atmosphere. For years, the former Roger Pirates first mate had maintained careful anonymity on Sabaody Archipelago, living as just another aging resident with expensive drinking habits. Only Shakky knew his true identity—or so he had believed.
Discovery by the World Government would end his peaceful retirement in the most violent possible way.
"Your presence here isn't exactly a state secret," Oboro replied with measured honesty. "Certain information has a way of circulating through specific channels, regardless of official attempts at concealment."
In the original timeline, Admiral Kizaru had possessed intelligence about Rayleigh's location during the events at Sabaody. The Navy's failure to act on that information suggested political calculations rather than ignorance—some battles simply weren't worth fighting.
The proximity to Marine Headquarters meant constant surveillance was theoretically possible, but the costs of confronting a living legend often outweighed potential benefits. Better to maintain the illusion of ignorance while both sides observed unofficial boundaries.
"Hahaha!" Rayleigh's laughter was genuine and rich with appreciation for the younger man's diplomatic response.
The old pirate recognized both honesty and strategic thinking in that answer. Oboro had revealed just enough to satisfy curiosity while avoiding specifics that might compromise anyone's position—the mark of someone who understood how dangerous information could be.
"It seems you're far more than just another escaped Celestial Dragon slave," Rayleigh observed with growing interest. "I don't encounter many young people with your particular combination of intelligence and composure. Tell me—do you have plans to take to the seas?"
The invitation was implicit but unmistakable. Most people who crossed paths with Rayleigh under such circumstances were offered guidance, contacts, or at minimum some form of mentorship in the pirate's life.
Dom's presence and obvious criminal affiliations suggested that Oboro had already made the fundamental choice to operate outside legal boundaries. The only question was how far he intended to push his rebellion against established authority.
"Yes," Oboro confirmed without hesitation.
"Then I suggest you make your departure quickly," Rayleigh advised with paternal concern. "The current calm won't last indefinitely. Once the Navy resumes active operations, your window for escape will close rapidly. Even I couldn't protect you from the full weight of their determination."
The warning was delivered with genuine care—recognition that talent like Oboro's deserved the chance to flourish rather than being crushed by circumstances beyond his control.
"I hope to see your name in the newspapers soon," Rayleigh added with an anticipatory smile. "Something tells me you'll make quite an impression on the world."
Oboro nodded politely but offered no commitments about his immediate plans. Instead, he gestured for Dom to follow and moved toward the exit without further conversation.
The brief interaction had accomplished everything he had hoped for and more.
"Boss," Dom began the moment they stepped into the cool night air, his curiosity finally overwhelming his usual caution. "Who was that man? I've never heard of anyone like him operating on Sabaody."
The transformed pirate's enhanced senses had picked up power signatures that defied easy categorization. Whatever Rayleigh truly was, he operated on a level that made most Grand Line threats seem insignificant by comparison.
"Just a remnant of a bygone era," Oboro replied with deliberate vagueness, his attention already shifting to their next priorities.
The description was both accurate and misleading—technically correct while revealing nothing of substance about Rayleigh's legendary status or historical significance.
Back inside the bar, Shakky studied her longtime friend with knowing amusement. The evening's events had clearly left an impression on the normally unflappable Dark King.
"What do you think of our mysterious visitor?" she asked, crushing her finished cigarette in the overflowing ashtray beside her.
This was the first time in years that a slave had successfully escaped Celestial Dragon control and remained at large. The World Government's resources would be mobilized on an unprecedented scale to recapture such a prize, making Oboro's survival prospects seem negligible at best.
Yet something about the younger man's demeanor suggested he possessed advantages that weren't immediately apparent.
"He's... unsettling," Rayleigh admitted after draining his sake cup in a single swallow.
The honest assessment carried weight that made Shakky pause mid-motion, her hand freezing halfway to her cigarette pack. In all their years together, she had rarely heard Rayleigh describe anyone in such terms.
"Unsettling how?" she pressed, genuine curiosity replacing her usual casual indifference.
"When I used Armament Haki to crush that collar, I watched his eyes change from simple observation to actual comprehension," Rayleigh explained, his expression growing more serious as he recalled the details. "It appeared that in those few seconds, he grasped the fundamental principles behind Haki manipulation. He didn't just come here for collar removal—I suspect that demonstration was his primary objective."
Shakky's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. Such learning speed bordered on the impossible, even for individuals with exceptional natural talent.
"Are you certain you didn't misread the situation?" she challenged. "Haki isn't something that can be understood through casual observation. Even basic proficiency requires months of dedicated training under proper guidance."
"Perhaps I'm being overly sensitive," Rayleigh conceded with a self-deprecating smile. "The entire encounter felt... unusual. At first glance, he appears to be an ordinary person, albeit one with remarkable composure. But underneath that surface, there's something genuinely dangerous."
He paused, organizing his thoughts before continuing. "The fact that he located this establishment suggests access to intelligence networks that should be beyond an escaped slave's reach. I also recognized the tattoo on his companion—that young man belongs to the Flame Dragon Pirates, a minor crew with limited reputation. Their captain carries a bounty of only fifteen million berries."
Shakky processed this information with the analytical mind of someone who had built a career on reading people and situations accurately.
"So what's your assessment?" she asked, moving around the counter to begin her nightly closing routine.
"Very mysterious," Rayleigh mused, his attention still focused on the door through which Oboro had departed. "I expected him to request assistance escaping Sabaody Archipelago entirely. Instead, he simply wanted the collar removed and then left without discussing future plans."
The implications were significant. Someone truly interested in survival would prioritize distance from the World Government's center of power. Oboro's apparent intention to remain on or near Sabaody suggested either supreme confidence or elaborate planning that extended beyond immediate escape.
"If he's staying on the island, things are going to become very interesting," Rayleigh concluded with the anticipatory smile of someone who had grown bored with retirement's peaceful predictability.
Shakky finished turning off the bar's exterior lights and securing the entrance, but her mind remained focused on their enigmatic visitors. Something about the evening's events suggested they had just witnessed the opening moves of a much larger game—one that might reshape the power dynamics of the entire archipelago.
Whatever Oboro's true nature and intentions, his presence promised to disrupt the careful balance that had kept Sabaody's criminal underworld functioning under the Navy's watchful eye.
The Dark King's assessment carried the weight of decades spent evaluating threats and opportunities across the most dangerous waters in the world. If he found Oboro unsettling, then the escaped slave represented something far more significant than his humble origins suggested.
Time would reveal whether that assessment proved accurate—and whether the world was prepared for whatever storm was about to be unleashed.