The sea was calm, and the sunlight fell just right, casting a warm glow over the Roger Pirates' ship.
This vessel, though not yet the legendary Oro Jackson of the future, was already a world apart from the rickety old boat that had nearly collapsed beneath them years ago. Its deck creaked occasionally, but it was solid enough to carry a dozen or more of the most eccentric pirates Kyle had ever met—and that was saying something.
The crew bustled about, laughing, cleaning, or enjoying idle mischief, but Kyle, for once, allowed himself a moment of peace. He leaned casually against the ship's rail, a fishing rod in hand—though it had no bait. The pose alone was enough to make him feel a small, fleeting sense of serenity.
Two years. Two long, chaotic, exhilarating years.
During that time, he had watched the crew grow from a handful of reckless adventurers into a full-fledged, terrifyingly lively band of pirates. Roger's bounty had skyrocketed as if riding a rocket, and with it, the attention—and harassment—of the Marines had intensified. Friendly greetings, as Kyle sarcastically thought of them, now came in the form of heavily armed ships and stern Rear Admirals.
"Island spotted ahead—!"
From the crow's nest, Pittam's booming voice broke the calm.
"Wait… in front of the island… Marines! Several ships! And the lead ship… the flag indicates a Rear Admiral!"
"Marines?" Kyle muttered, raising an eyebrow.
"Rear Admiral?"
On deck, the crew erupted into motion. Miller Pine dropped his barrel of liquor and flexed his massive iron hammer, knuckles cracking. Colonel Mu Gulian spat out his cigar, his eyes sharpening, hand moving instinctively toward his pistol. Spencer, ever the epitome of composure, sighed elegantly, clearly dismayed that his afternoon tea would soon be interrupted by chaos.
"Kuhahaha! Just in time for a warm-up!" Roger burst from the Captain's cabin, face alight with uncontainable excitement. His grin stretched from ear to ear, the kind of grin that promised disaster wrapped in fun.
Kyle rolled his eyes, putting away the fishing rod and stretching lazily. He glanced at the eager crew members readying themselves for combat. A small smile tugged at his lips. It was time.
Though he had thrived aboard this ship for two years, using his "King of Connections" skills and high emotional intelligence to navigate the madness, Kyle knew one truth: sometimes, words and charm were not enough. Respect—real, unquestionable respect—had to be earned with fists, or in his case, with Devil Fruit powers and raw skill.
"For a mere Rear Admiral's fleet, there's no need for the Captain or First Mate to act," Kyle said, stepping forward. "This is a good chance for the newcomers to witness the senior's strength."
The deck fell silent. All eyes turned to him.
"Oh~!" Jabba cheered first, slapping an arm around Kyle's shoulders. "Little Kyle's going to show off!"
"Don't fall into the sea by accident! That would be embarrassing!" Miller Pine called out, laughing loudly.
Colonel Mu Gulian let out a quiet snort. He had heard tales of Kyle's strength but had yet to witness it firsthand.
"Kuhahaha! Interesting!" Roger laughed, the loudest of all. "Then it's yours, Kyle! Make it quick—don't keep us from the feast!"
Rayleigh, standing nearby with his usual calm smile, adjusted his glasses and regarded Kyle with an approving nod. Expectation shimmered in his eyes.
Kyle took a deep breath, crouching slightly, and whispered under his breath, "Time to show them…"
"Sonic Step — Instant!"
A dull explosion erupted beneath him. The wooden planks of the deck groaned under the force, then gave way slightly as Kyle shot upward like a human cannonball. The ship swayed violently from the recoil, drawing gasps from the crew.
"Oh, oh, oh! Amazing!" The new crew members cheered, eyes wide with awe.
Kyle's trajectory formed a perfect arc in the sky. As momentum slowed and he seemed to hover mid-air, his right foot pressed against thin air.
Bang!
Another sonic boom rippled through the air, invisible force propelling him further and allowing him to zigzag across the sky like he was stepping on phantom stairs.
"Moonwalk?" Mu Gulian muttered to himself, then shook his head. "No… that's not it. What is that?"
"It's Kyle's Devil Fruit ability," Rayleigh said softly from below. "He uses shockwaves as footholds."
A collective gasp swept the deck. The quiet, always-smiling Little Kyle—the one who looked so harmless—was actually an absurdly powerful monster.
Hundreds of meters above the ocean, Kyle's eyes glinted with mischief as he surveyed the approaching Marine fleet. From this distance, he could clearly see the panicked faces of sailors on the Rear Admiral's flagship, pointing at him as if he were a creature from a different world.
Very good. The dramatic entrance effect? Check.
Now for the grand finale.
He considered which attack to use first: Oni Giri: Baku Homing to sweep the deck, or Light Illusion Mirage to make them fight themselves.
Then, a voice boomed across the waves. A loud, hearty, undeniably familiar voice, capable of making anyone's DNA tremble.
"Huh? What's that in the sky? A strange bird?"
The crisp crunch of senbei followed.
"Lads! See that ship? The Roger Pirates, making waves again!"
"Roger! You won't escape this time! Surrender and accept the judgment of justice!"
Kyle froze mid-air, cold sweat forming on his forehead. That voice… that laugh… that absurdly familiar chewing sound…
Sorry, sir, I didn't recognize you just now!
Rear Admiral? Pfft. Can Garp really be just any Rear Admiral?
Kyle's mind raced. That man had been a thorn in their side since their first year at sea, chasing them across half the Grand Line. He could already picture Garp picking his nose while glaring at him, muttering, "You're trash."
Below, the Roger Pirates continued cheering, oblivious.
"Go, Little Kyle, Senior!"
"Show them the might of the Roger Pirates!"
"So cool! Little Kyle!"
Kyle clenched his teeth. Me? Face Garp? The veteran of Marines? The man who could punch mountains into rubble? The "King of Connections" might be about to lose his cool.
He wanted nothing more than to turn around mid-air, press Nozdon's head—who was shouting "Senior is so cool"—onto the deck, and rub it repeatedly.
"Hah! It's that brat from Roger's ship!" Garp bellowed again, his tone almost warm, like a reunion with a troublesome old friend. "Flying spiritedly, are you interested in joining the Marines? I can write you a recommendation letter! Hahaha!"
Kyle's grimace deepened. Join the Marines? Work for him? Be a punching bag for the "Fist of Love" every day? Not happening.
He remained silent, his jaw tight, ignoring the harassment. Garp, however, was persistent.
"Not talking? Are you shy?" Garp laughed, white teeth gleaming. "Evil pirate brat! I'll personally let you feel the warmth of justice!"
Without further warning, Garp grabbed a few cannonballs from the deck—pure arm strength, no ignition—and hurled them skyward.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!
The black spheres were immediately coated in Armament Haki, the dark, dense aura gleaming ominously. They screamed through the air like meteors, white trails streaking behind them. Kyle's heart sank.
"Holy crap…" He realized this wasn't just a warning. Garp's throws could easily break bones, send him plunging into the sea, and make a fine meal for the Sea Kings below.
Escape routes? Nonexistent. Every possible maneuver seemed anticipated.
Kyle—the senior, the King of Connections—was cornered.
Hmph. Should I dodge carefully… or show them the edge of my power?
The new crew watched silently, eyes wide. The next move would determine not only Kyle's reputation but the entire crew's awe of their "senior."
And Kyle, floating hundreds of meters above the ocean, felt the familiar thrill of facing a worthy opponent—the only man who could make him question whether connections alone were enough to survive this world.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)