Facts prove that the recovery ability of pirates is directly proportional to their desire for destruction… and the reason for celebration is inversely proportional to their moral bottom line.
One second they're locked in a life-or-death battle, blades flashing and cannons roaring. The next, the same people are clinking cups like lifelong friends, laughing under the moonlight as if the fight never happened.
On the beach, a huge bonfire roared and cracked, sending sparks into the night sky. An unknown beast—one that Roger had cleaved cleanly in half with a single swing—was now roasting over the flames. The fat dripped into the fire with a mouth-watering hiss, sending waves of rich, smoky aroma rolling through the salty sea air.
The shadows of four men danced against the rocks, flickering with the firelight.
Kyle leaned against one such rock—its edges flattened and fractured from a shockwave earlier in the day. He cradled a wooden bowl of wine in both hands, feeling like a battered wreck washed ashore by the tide of history.
Every bone in his body felt like it was debating whether to resign from service. Each muscle seemed to lodge an official complaint about the "inhumane working conditions" they'd endured since morning.
"I say…" Kyle muttered weakly, voice almost drowned by the crackling fire and the crash of distant waves. "Can't we wait until the ship's repaired? Or at least until I recover before throwing a banquet? Is this 'banquet anywhere, anytime' habit really healthy?"
"Kuhahahaha! Kids are such a bother!" Roger barked out a laugh, voice booming across the shore. In his left hand, he gripped an entire beast leg like a weapon; his right arm was draped over the shoulders of their newest recruit, Jabba. Both men's faces were flushed crimson from drinking. "Pirates should eat meat and drink heavily! Right, Jabba?"
"Exactly!" Jabba slammed his cup against Roger's with a satisfying clink, grinning like a man who'd already forgotten that they'd been fighting to the death hours earlier. "To our fate of becoming friends through fighting—cheers!"
On the other side of the fire, Rayleigh sat cross-legged, a calm smile on his lips. He was polishing his saber with slow, steady movements, as if the joyous chaos around him had nothing to do with him at all. The "long-lost brothers finally reunited" scene seemed to wash over him without stirring a ripple.
Kyle rolled his eyes and tore off a small, crispy piece of roast meat, popping it into his mouth.
…Ah. So delicious. Thank you, nature's bounty.
His gaze swept over the three men in front of him. Gold—Roger. Silver—Rayleigh. Bronze—Jabba. The legendary core of the Roger Pirates… complete.
Hiss… and then there's me.
A strange cocktail of feelings brewed in his chest—part excitement, part anxiety, and maybe a dash of pure, unfiltered competitiveness.
He didn't want to be a mascot. He didn't want to be the "cute tagalong" that history forgot.
Iron. Yes, "Iron" sounded right. Iron Kyle, fourth pillar of the crew. The King's Three… plus me. A new alloy in the making.
---
"Speaking of which, Roger," Jabba said suddenly, taking a deep swig of wine before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why did you go to sea? You were talking about… hic… overturning the world earlier?"
The bonfire's light painted Roger's face in shades of orange and gold, softening his usual goofy grin. For once, he seemed… almost solemn.
"A dream," Roger said, his tone low but steady. He tore into the meat with a bite before continuing. "I want to see what lies at the end of this great sea… to accomplish something no one else has ever done."
He didn't raise his voice, yet his words landed in the heart like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through the minds of everyone listening.
There was no mention of the title "Pirate King." No talk of treasure, fame, or power. Just pure, unshakable curiosity—and an ambition so vast it made the air feel heavier.
Jabba stared at him, momentarily forgetting to drink. He saw in Roger's eyes the final, ultimate form of his own yearning.
He wanted to travel the world. This man wanted to reach the very end of it.
"Kuhahahaha!" Roger suddenly broke the tension, perhaps finding it too stuffy for his liking. His grin returned in full force as he jabbed Kyle in the ribs with his greasy elbow. "Hey, Little Kyle! What about you? What's your dream?"
Three gazes turned toward him instantly.
Rayleigh's was calm and probing, Jabba's full of curiosity, and Roger's… Roger's was the kind of look you give a friend right before expecting them to say something absolutely ridiculous.
My dream?
Kyle's brain spun up like a hamster wheel greased with panic.
World's greatest swordsman? Too troublesome. You'd have challengers knocking at your door daily.
Conqueror of the seas? Eh… too much paperwork, plus constant assassination attempts.
Wealth, beauty, fame, power? Tempting… but too cliché.
No, in front of these monsters, spouting some cookie-cutter slogan felt cheap.
Then a thought struck him—no, a meme struck him. From his past life.
Shanks. Red-Haired Shanks. One of the Four Emperors. A man who could roam the seas and stop wars with a single sentence: "Please give me some face."
What power was that?
The power to bend the world, not through strength alone, but through sheer personal influence.
Face Fruit. That had to be the strongest Devil Fruit in the pirate world!
Sure, Kyle had eaten the Boba Fruit… but dreams didn't have to follow the rules.
A wild, wonderful, and utterly ridiculous plan began to take root in his mind.
He set down his wooden bowl, cleared his throat, puffed out his chest, and even mimicked Roger's trademark "mysterious grin."
"My dream…" he began, drawing out the words so slowly that the fire seemed to crackle in anticipation, "…is to become… the King of Connections!"
"…Huh?"
Three legendary pirates froze in unison.
"King of… Connections?" Jabba repeated, frowning as if Kyle had just said he wanted to be the Emperor of Teapots.
"Kuhahahaha! What kind of crazy dream is that?" Roger was first to react, his booming laugh shaking the night air. "Do you want to be a king, or do you just want to know everybody?"
Kyle held up a finger, his expression dripping with the confidence of a man explaining Wi-Fi to cavemen.
"What do you think is the strongest power on this great sea?" he asked.
"Haki, of course," Jabba answered instantly.
"Powerful Devil Fruits," Roger added without hesitation.
"An unyielding will," Rayleigh said evenly.
Kyle shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing in mock pity. "Ah… young pirates. The strongest power… is relationships. Connections. What I call… 'face.'"
He began pacing in front of the bonfire, his voice growing more impassioned with each step.
"Imagine this: we run into trouble with the Marines, and I make a Den Den Mushi call… and the Fleet Admiral himself says, 'Brother Kyle! Don't worry, I'll send a warship right now!' We're short on funds? I make another call, and the richest man in the world says, 'Brother Kyle! Spend freely!' We meet a terrifying enemy? I walk up, put a hand on their shoulder, and say… 'Give me some face.' And they back down immediately."
He spread his arms wide, as if already embracing this glorious future. "I won't need to fight at all. Just one word, one glance, and the world moves to my rhythm. My name, my face—harder currency than gold or berries! I will be… the King of Connections!"
He struck a final pose, hands on hips, chin tilted at a heroic angle. In his mind, he imagined the awe, the admiration, the respectful silence—
Instead, there was… silence.
Only the bonfire's crackle and the faint rush of the tide.
Roger's jaw hung open. Jabba stared like he'd just witnessed a Sea King juggling coconuts. Rayleigh's expression hovered somewhere between "this man is a genius" and "this man is an idiot."
Then—
"Pfft—"
"Kuhahahahahahaha!" Roger doubled over, laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. Tears streamed down his face. "King of Connections! Where do you come up with this stuff?!"
Even Jabba cracked, chuckling despite himself. The more he thought about it, the less ridiculous it sounded.
"Although it sounds absurd," Rayleigh said at last, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "if you could truly achieve it… it would indeed be a form of invincibility."
Kyle looked around. Sure, they were laughing—but there was no mockery there. Just genuine amusement… and maybe, just maybe, a hint of respect.
A warmth bloomed in his chest.
"Good! I approve of your dream!" Roger finally said, raising a massive sake barrel in salute. "Then it's decided! I'll reach the end of the world! Kyle will be the King of Connections, making the whole world give him face! Jabba will travel the world! And Rayleigh…"
He turned..
Rayleigh raised his cup, smirking. "I just want to see what kind of chaos the three of you can stir up."
"Kuhahahaha! Good!"
"Cheers!"
Four cups and barrels—mismatched in size but equal in spirit—clinked together above the roaring fire. The sound rang out across the moonlit shore, carried on the sea breeze toward a future none of them could yet imagine.
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