The Oro Jackson cut through the vast, endless expanse of the Grand Line, her sails fat with the steady push of the wind. Days had passed since they'd left their last port, yet the crew's energy never seemed to flag. The ship was alive with the creak of timbers, the slap of waves, and the faint scent of salt and sun-warmed wood.
For Kyle, those days had been nothing short of miraculous. His young body, already gifted with a ridiculous capacity to bounce back from injury, had healed faster than he'd expected. The deep bruise along his ribs—a souvenir from his last brush with danger—was gone completely. With the wound erased and his belly full from days of ample food and drink, he felt a surge of vitality humming through his veins.
And perhaps… more than just vitality.
Each day, he watched Roger—whether the captain was laughing into the wind at the bow, arm-wrestling Rayleigh and inevitably cheating to win, or humming wildly off-key tunes that probably made the sea birds nervous. Roger's sheer presence was intoxicating. He radiated an almost tangible force, a vitality that seemed to spill off the deck and into the air. Just standing near him made Kyle feel like the world was bigger, louder, and more alive than before.
It stirred something in him—a desire he couldn't quite name, except that it was hot in his chest and impatient in his bones.
This afternoon, the weather was perfect. The sun hung at just the right height, the sky stretched cloudless above, and a gentle sea breeze curled through the rigging, tugging at loose hair and clothes.
Roger sat cross-legged on a crate, finishing the last bites of a roasted sea beast leg, his expression one of deep satisfaction as he idly picked at his teeth with a toothpick. The smell of the meat still lingered in the air—rich, smoky, and faintly sweet.
Rayleigh leaned against the mast, his posture relaxed, the late light glinting off his glasses as he methodically wiped the blade of his rapier. To most eyes, it was just a slender, unremarkable sword. But Kyle, after a few days aboard, knew better—it was a weapon sharp enough to cut through things that should never have been cut.
Kyle rolled his shoulders, stretched his limbs, and felt the hum of energy coiling within him. He'd been holding this back for days, but the impulse had reached its limit.
He strode forward a few steps until he was standing before the captain, eyes burning.
"Captain!"
Roger glanced up, one eyebrow raised, his voice a lazy rumble. "Hmm? What's wrong, little Kyle? Hungry?"
Kyle shook his head. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a reckless edge. "Duel with me, Captain."
The toothpick paused mid-motion between Roger's teeth. Then, slowly, his mouth stretched into a grin—wide, sharp, and dangerous.
"Kuhahaha! Interesting!"
Rayleigh stopped polishing his blade. The faint smile behind his glasses deepened as he turned to watch, clearly amused.
A space was quickly cleared on the deck. The crew who lingered nearby instinctively gave the two plenty of room.
Kyle inhaled deeply, steadying his breath. He knew—of course he knew—that the gap between them was enormous. But knowing it didn't quench the hunger in his chest. If anything, it made it burn hotter. He needed to see how far he could push himself… even if the answer was "not far at all."
"Ikuso, Captain!"
Before the words were fully out of his mouth, his body shimmered.
"Light Illusion Mirage!"
The air rippled as if struck by heat, and in an instant, two more Kyles appeared beside him—each one an exact copy. Same height, same face, same stance. Their auras were identical, their movements perfectly in sync. Even their breathing matched.
The three Kyles fanned out, forming a triangle around Roger, and charged at once.
From the left—Kyle's hand came down in a sharp chop aimed at the captain's neck.
From the right—a swift kick arced toward Roger's lower body.
From the front—two fists drew back for a driving, bone-rattling punch.
It was, by Kyle's estimation, his best move. The clones would keep the opponent guessing, force a mistake, create an opening. Even if only one was real, the illusions were real enough to feel like threats.
Roger… let's see if you can handle this. This punch has thirty years of physics knowledge behind it!
But Roger didn't flinch. He didn't even adjust his posture. He simply stood there, lazily picking his nose, the same amused smile plastered across his face. Only the faint glint in his eyes betrayed any shift in focus.
"Wow. Sugoi."
Then, just as the attacks were about to land, Roger moved.
It wasn't fast. It wasn't complicated.
He didn't dodge. He didn't block.
He just… swung his right fist in a casual hook toward the Kyle charging from the front.
"Bang."
A dull, heavy sound.
Kyle's illusions shattered in an instant, dissolving into wisps of light.
The real Kyle barely had time to register the immense, crushing force in his abdomen before his vision twisted and turned into meaningless colors.
Watashi… did I just get jackpot-punched again?
His body folded like a boiled shrimp, feet leaving the deck before he flopped to the planks in an unceremonious heap. His eyes rolled back, and the world went black.
It had happened in less than a second.
One moment, three Kyles were closing in from all directions; the next, there was just one lying unconscious on the deck.
The sea breeze filled the silence, rustling the sails.
Roger shook out his fist as if brushing off dust.
"Kuhahaha! It's good to be young. Just fall asleep like that!"
Rayleigh stepped closer, looking down at Kyle's curled-up form, and shook his head. "He won't be waking up before dinner. You're still too heavy-handed, Roger."
"Kuhahaha! Little Kyle's sturdy." Roger bent down and scooped the boy up one-handed, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "Come on, Rayleigh. Let's see if we can catch something big for dinner."
---
The smell of roasting meat pulled Kyle out of the void.
He groaned softly, blinking against the warm orange light spilling through the cabin's porthole. The setting sun turned everything inside gold and crimson, the shadows swaying gently with the motion of the ship.
His stomach rumbled. His ribs and belly ached faintly—physical reminders of his disastrous "duel."
"Ugh…" He sat up, rubbing his forehead.
From outside came Roger's booming voice. "Yo, awake?" The words were thick with amusement.
Kyle staggered to his feet and shuffled onto the deck.
A bonfire crackled in the middle of the planks. Suspended above it was the roasted carcass of some enormous seabird, its skin golden and blistered, dripping fat that hissed as it hit the flames. The smell was intoxicating.
Roger was tearing into it with a dagger, eating with both hands, grease dripping down his chin. Rayleigh sat nearby, perfectly composed, carving meat neatly onto his plate.
"Kuhahaha! Just in time, little Kyle! Tonight's dinner's special!" Roger waved him over to an empty crate.
Kyle didn't need telling twice. He dropped into the seat, gratefully accepting knife and fork from Rayleigh—only to abandon them seconds later to grab a leg with both hands, biting in with feral enthusiasm.
"Mmm… Umaii!" The meat was tender, smoky, and impossibly good—easily the best thing he'd eaten since arriving in this world.
By the time he'd stripped the bone clean, his belly was full, but his pride still ached. He glanced at Roger, still chewing happily.
"Captain," he began slowly, "that punch earlier… what was that? I used 'Light Illusion Mirage,' attacked from three directions…"
Roger grinned, waggling his fist. "That? Just a 'bang,' and you fell asleep! Kuhahaha!"
Kyle's mouth twitched. "I mean—how did you know which one was real?"
Roger tilted his head in mock thought. "Hmm… maybe your weakness was too obvious? I just picked the one that looked good and punched. Pure luck!"
Kyle almost choked on air.
Rayleigh's voice was calm but merciless. "To Roger, it didn't matter which one he hit. He just attacked, knowing the real one couldn't avoid it."
Kyle: "…"
Roger laughed. "Your Devil Fruit's got potential, but you've got a long way to go!"
The words stung—but instead of crushing him, they fanned the flames in his chest.
He stood suddenly. "Captain! Please teach me to get stronger!"
Roger studied him, then slapped his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Kuhahaha! That's the spirit! Starting tomorrow, Rayleigh and I will train you ourselves. Don't die, little Kyle!"
Kyle swallowed. Between Roger's manic grin and Rayleigh's serene good luck, he suddenly wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a death sentence.
"Yes… Captain!"
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