Three days after they had set sail, Kyle still hadn't let go of a certain sore spot — his bounty.
He sat cross-legged on the deck, a deerskin cloth in hand, methodically wiping down the crude naginata resting across his lap. His motions were precise, almost ritualistic, but his muttering betrayed his mood.
> "One and a half million… one and a half million…"
The words were half complaint, half disbelief.
> "I'm not even worth as much as a nearshore Sea King. Do those Marine guys think my 'Phoenix Blast' was some rented stage effect? No sense of aesthetics at all — blind, the whole lot of them!"
A calm voice drifted from beside him. "Still worrying about that?"
Kyle looked up. Rayleigh was leaning casually against the mast, a book in his hands. He wasn't actually reading — the man's gaze was unfocused, clearly more interested in people than in print.
Kyle's denial came instantly. "I'm not!" Then, after a pause, he slumped. "I just think my… market value and my overwhelming handsomeness are way out of balance."
A booming laugh cut through the air.
"Kuhahaha! So how much do you think you're worth?"
Roger had emerged from the kitchen, a massive fishbone slung over his shoulder like a trophy. Judging from the smell of grilled meat trailing behind him, breakfast was over — and Roger had eaten very, very well.
Kyle straightened, puffing out his chest. With utmost seriousness, he raised three fingers.
"Starting price, thirty million Berries!"
Roger and Rayleigh exchanged a single look. Then, as if on cue, they both burst out laughing. Roger's was loud, unrestrained, almost shaking the deck; Rayleigh's was quieter, a mix of amusement and something like pity.
"Kid, you've got big ambitions," Rayleigh said at last. He closed his book with a soft thump, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and let his tone sharpen. "But remember — a bounty is just the World Government's measure of how much trouble you cause them. It doesn't always match your real strength. That flashy strike of yours? Strong enough to scare the small fry, sure…"
He paused, voice dropping a notch. "…but if you meet a real powerhouse, you might go down before you even swing that naginata. In fact, your precious shockwave might not even touch certain enemies at all."
Kyle froze mid-polish. "Certain enemies?"
"Haki," Rayleigh said simply.
The word seemed to weigh down the air itself. Even the sound of the waves felt muted.
"All humans," Rayleigh continued, "have a hidden power inside them — 'aura,' 'presence,' 'spirit.' Call it what you like. It's there from birth, but most never realize it's there, much less awaken it. Haki is usually split into two types… no, three."
He raised one finger. "First is Observation Haki — the ability to sense the presence of others, sometimes even beyond sight. A skilled user can read intent, feel danger, and even predict movements a heartbeat before they happen. In fact, during your 'Love Feeding' training, you unconsciously brushed its edge."
Kyle blinked, remembering those strange moments when his body had moved just right without him thinking about it.
Rayleigh lifted a second finger. "Second is Armament Haki, which Roger demonstrated a few days back. It strengthens your defense and your attacks — like wrapping yourself in invisible armor. Most importantly, it's the great equalizer against Devil Fruit powers. Logia, Paramecia — doesn't matter. Enough Armament Haki will strip away any supposed invincibility."
Kyle felt his throat tighten. He'd known this from his past life's knowledge, but hearing it here, from Rayleigh himself, carried a weight he hadn't expected.
Rayleigh's tone softened, but only slightly. "The third… is Haoshoku. Conqueror's Haki. One in a million are born with it. It can't be taught, can't be trained into existence. Either you awaken it on your own… or you don't."
"Kuhahaha!" Roger tossed the fishbone overboard, planting his fists on his hips. His shadow loomed over Kyle like a small mountain. "So, kid! Want to add another zero to your bounty? First, you learn to take a beating!"
Before Kyle could respond, Roger had somehow produced a black cloth strip from nowhere.
"Here — put this on."
Kyle eyed it warily. "…It smells like sweat."
"To train your Observation Haki," Roger declared. Without giving him a chance to protest, he tied the strip tight over Kyle's eyes. "If your eyes and ears trick you, stop relying on them. Use your heart to see!"
The world went instantly dark. Kyle's sense of security plummeted. "Oi, oi, oi! Captain, don't—"
"Kuhahaha! Rayleigh, ready?"
"Anytime."
Kyle's instincts screamed. Something was rushing toward him — from both sides!
He didn't think, didn't plan — just bent backward in an iron bridge.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two projectiles passed so close he could feel the air split — one a splintered plank, the other a half-empty wine bottle.
"Oh?" Rayleigh sounded faintly impressed.
"Not bad!" Roger's excitement was almost dangerous. "Let's speed things up!"
Kyle barely had time to straighten before the air filled with the sound of incoming projectiles — dozens, maybe hundreds.
"Oi, that's not—!"
Bang! An anchor fragment slammed into his back. He staggered.
Thud! An apple bounced off his forehead.
"Baka yarou! You trying to kill me?!"
"Kuhahaha! If you die from this, you're not fit to sail with me!"
"Concentrate," Rayleigh's calm voice cut through the chaos. "Don't follow the sound. Don't follow the wind. Don't use your Devil Fruit. Find the intent behind each attack — the presence that can't be hidden."
Kyle clenched his jaw. Intent… aura…
He went still, forcing his breath slow. The noise of the sea, Roger's deep breaths, the faint flip of a book page — all irrelevant.
There. Back right!
He stepped left just in time for a plank to smash into the deck where he'd been standing.
Rayleigh's approval was a quiet, "Good."
Kyle felt his confidence grow. Sparks of "killing intent" lit up in his awareness — left, two… front, three… and one above—!
He moved like a wave itself, body bending at impossible angles, barely dodging everything.
When the last orange whistled past his ear and splattered on the deck, the barrage stopped.
Panting, drenched in sweat, Kyle yanked off the blindfold. His grin was wild. "Again!"
The training went on until he could barely stand.
And then came the afternoon.
Rayleigh stepped forward, voice returning to lecture mode. "Armament Haki is the shaping of your will into armor. Cover your body or weapon with it, and both will be harder, sharper. It comes from a strong spirit backed by a strong body. Picture your weapon as a blade, and Haki as the perfect sheath — protection and power combined."
"Enough talking!" Roger's fist cracked audibly as he flexed it. "Come on, kid, punch me here."
Kyle eyed the pitch-black arm. "…Pretty sure my hand will break."
"Kuhahaha! Then let's switch!" Roger's grin turned dangerous, and his punch came faster than thought.
Kyle threw up his naginata to block—
CLANG!
The shockwave of the blow sent him flying through a cabin door in a spray of splinters. Blood filled his mouth. His hands tore at the webbing between the thumb and forefinger, crimson dripping onto the wood. The naginata's shaft sported a deep crack.
Roger stood where he was, lowering his arm. "Feel it? Your ship-breaking strike didn't even budge me."
Kyle spat blood, eyes bright. "…Again."
For the next hour, the deck became a one-sided demolition site — Roger pummeling, Kyle enduring, each blow teaching him how Haki penetrated and punished.
Finally, Rayleigh drew his sword, its blade glistening under a sheen of Armament Haki. "Weapons, too, can be coated. Watch."
His thrust was unremarkable in speed — yet Kyle's instincts screamed. He had no time to dodge.
He poured every drop of will into his naginata, forcing the armor he imagined into reality. "Harden… damn it, harden!"
Clink!
The blades met, sparks scattering. The naginata didn't shatter.
Rayleigh withdrew, voice calm. "For an instant, you succeeded. Faint, but real."
Kyle stared at his weapon, feeling its hum like a shared heartbeat. "…This is Armament Haki?"
"Kuhahaha! Well done, Kyle!" Roger's congratulatory slap nearly sent him back to the infirmary.
Kyle staggered, grinning through the pain. Every bone ached, every muscle screamed — but the satisfaction was intoxicating.
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