The aftereffects of Haki training weren't just sore muscles — they were systemic. Kyle felt as if every bone in his body had been taken apart, inspected piece by piece, then reassembled by Roger and Rayleigh with all the care of two drunks gluing together a porcelain vase. Every step felt like the pieces might fall apart again at the slightest touch.
By the time their rickety little boat scraped against the shallows of a seemingly deserted island, Kyle didn't walk ashore — he crawled.
He flopped face-down in the sand like a shipwreck survivor, one arm stretched forward as if reaching for salvation.
"Captain… don't you dare stop…" he mumbled into the sand.
"Kuhahaha! Adventure! Adventure!"
The moment Roger's boots hit solid ground, he was gone. His posture snapped upright, his grin widened, and in an instant, he transformed from a man into a force of nature — like a wild dog that had just been let off the chain. With a cheer that probably made the local wildlife file evacuation notices, he charged headlong into the dense, primeval jungle and disappeared in seconds.
Kyle groaned into the sand. Of course. Classic Roger.
"Isn't he even slightly worried about poisonous snakes, man-eating plants, or, I don't know, the countless ways the forest could kill him?" he grumbled.
Rayleigh, who had stepped lightly off the boat with the grace of a cat, smirked. "Knowing Roger? He's probably looking forward to finding them. Said he sensed something interesting."
Kyle rolled over and squinted at him. "Something interesting? The man's definition of interesting is probably 'something I can dismantle with excessive force.'"
Rayleigh didn't respond. He just strolled down the shoreline, letting his gaze drift over the vegetation and tide patterns as if committing the island's entire ecosystem to memory.
Kyle sighed and pushed himself upright, his joints cracking in protest. He followed slowly, trying to stretch out muscles that still screamed from training. The air was heavy with the scent of wet soil and green leaves, the canopy above so dense it swallowed most of the sunlight. Insects buzzed, hidden birds called out, and somewhere far off came the faint sound of something… large… moving.
He kicked a pebble into the shallows. "By the way, Rayleigh-san, how did you meet that lunatic captain of yours?"
Rayleigh adjusted his glasses, his gaze wandering toward the horizon as if the sea itself carried his memories.
"My house burned down," he said simply, "and I was living on a boat."
The memory seemed to replay in his mind — Roger's voice loud and certain:
'I am Gol D. Roger, and our meeting is fated, Rayleigh! Will you come with me to turn this world upside down?'
Kyle scratched his chin, unconvinced. "So… you didn't steal Roger's boat? He didn't, say… set your house on fire for the boat?"
Rayleigh gave him a long, expressionless look.
---
BOOOOM!
The ground suddenly trembled as an earth-shaking roar split the air, cutting their conversation clean off. It came from somewhere deep in the jungle, followed by a rumble that felt like a giant rolling beneath the earth.
Hundreds of birds shrieked and burst into the sky in panicked flocks. A pillar of dust rose above the canopy, carrying with it the cracking and snapping of enormous trees falling like matchsticks.
Kyle and Rayleigh exchanged a look. They didn't need words. The thought was mutual.
"I knew it…" Kyle groaned, rubbing his forehead. "We've been here ten minutes."
Rayleigh exhaled slowly, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Come on. Let's see what trouble he's dug up this time."
They moved — and when Rayleigh moved, Kyle matched him. The beach, the undergrowth, the branches — they blurred past in a rush of green and shadow as they tore through the forest toward the noise.
When they reached the source, Kyle stopped dead.
The once-pristine jungle had been devastated. The canopy was torn wide open, letting shafts of light spill onto a battlefield carved out by sheer force. Trees lay shattered and smoking. The ground was littered with craters, as though meteors had struck. Everywhere, thick slash marks scarred the earth.
And in the center of it all — two men.
"Kuhahahaha! Excellent! Truly excellent!"
Roger stood, long sword in hand, swinging with such wild joy that it looked less like a duel and more like a festival. Each strike carried the kind of raw force that could split stone — maybe even mountains.
His opponent was a tall young man with long hair tied back, the sunlight catching on the massive twin battle axes in his hands. His swings were broad, brutal, and unapologetically direct. The kind of technique that said: I'll break whatever's in front of me, and if I can't, I'll break it harder.
Kyle's breath caught. The details clicked instantly — the stance, the power, the sheer presence.
Two axes. Tall frame. Black sunglasses. That fierce, unyielding spirit that screamed 'I refuse to lose.'
"This guy is…!"
The legendary cave explorer!
The man who proved vocational school grads could still make it to university!
The strongest man in the world — or at least the one who would one day claim the title!
The third's second is the eldest!
"Scopper Jabba…" Kyle whispered. His heart kicked into overdrive. This was the future number three of the Roger Pirates — the "Bronze" among the legendary "Gold, Silver, and Bronze" trio.
Sparks exploded where sword met axe. The clash of metal rang in Kyle's chest, the shockwaves peeling the top layer of dirt from the ground. These weren't normal strikes — each one was a declaration of strength.
Roger noticed them first, his grin widening. "Oh? You're here! Good — let's wrap this up!"
And then his aura shifted. The playful, battle-loving gleam in his eyes deepened into something else — something heavy. Supreme pressure rolled off him in waves, a king's will made manifest.
Black-and-red lightning snaked around his blade, sizzling through the air.
Jabba's expression sharpened. He didn't back down. Instead, he let out a roar of his own, pouring everything he had into his axes as he surged forward.
"Good eyes!" Roger laughed. He raised his sword high.
"God Avoidance!"
The attack wasn't flashy. There were no theatrics, no wasted movements — just a clean, horizontal cut.
But that cut, wrapped in Conqueror's Haki, ignored distance entirely. One heartbeat it was in Roger's hands — the next, it struck Jabba's crossed axes as if the space between them had never existed.
Time seemed to hold still.
Then the force hit.
"Crack!"
The proud twin axes screamed under the strain, spiderweb cracks racing across the steel. The shock tore through Jabba's arms and chest, hurling him back like a ragdoll hit by a high-speed train. He smashed through seven, maybe eight massive trees before crashing to the ground in a heap — and then silence.
One strike. Decisive victory.
Roger slung his sword over his shoulder and grinned like nothing unusual had happened.
Kyle swallowed hard, eyes shining. So this… this is Conqueror's Haki coating?
Coach, I want to learn this. God Avoidance? Put me on the signup sheet.
Roger strode over to Jabba's unconscious body, crouched, and examined him with curiosity. He glanced at the cracked axes, chuckled, and called out, "Kuhahaha! What an interesting fellow! Hey! Wake him up — I've got questions!"
---
Ten minutes later, thanks to a well-placed shockwave from Kyle, Jabba stirred. He blinked up at the three strangers, leaning back against a tree with obvious caution.
"You're strong," Roger said, squatting in front of him and handing over a water pouch like they hadn't just tried to kill each other. His grin was open and honest. "I'm Gol D. Roger! This is Rayleigh, and that's Kyle. What's your name? Do you have a dream?"
Jabba hesitated but took the pouch. After a few gulps, his voice rumbled low and certain. "Scopper Jabba… My dream is to travel the world. To see every sight this great sea has to offer… and then marry a big woman."
Roger's eyes lit up like lanterns. "Oh! I like that dream!" He slapped his thigh, sprang to his feet, and grinned down at him. "Travel the world? That's my kind of ambition! I approve!"
Kyle's eyebrow twitched. Shouldn't the big woman part at least get a follow-up question?!
Roger extended his hand, smiling so brightly it seemed to light the clearing. "Jabba! Come aboard my ship! Let's turn this world upside down together!"
For a long moment, Jabba stared. He looked into Roger's eyes — clear, fierce, and so utterly confident they seemed to drag you along whether you liked it or not. The tension in his shoulders eased. A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"…Alright."
Kyle watched the scene unfold with disbelief. That's it? One fight, one question about dreams, a casual 'I approve of you,' and the man's on board?
The legendary succubus captain strikes again.
As Roger and Jabba laughed like old friends, Kyle glanced at Rayleigh, who wore the tired expression of someone who'd seen this exact thing happen too many times to count.
Rayleigh's the Pirate King's right arm… Jabba's his left arm…
Kyle stared at his own hands. Then what does that make me? The elbow? The kneecap?
Somewhere in the distance, the jungle rustled again. And Kyle had the sinking feeling this island's troubles were only just getting started.
Ãdvåñçé 60 çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)