Two years. It was enough time for a youth to shed his immaturity (mostly), and for a rickety little boat on the verge of falling apart to evolve into… well, at least a medium-sized sailboat that didn't look like it would sink in the next five minutes.
This new ship had been "donated out of friendship" by a certain short-sighted pirate crew, and at this moment, its deck was a complete mess.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!"
A short, stout man with a Viking-style beard was chugging an entire barrel of rum. This was Miller Pine, whose weapon of choice was a giant, spiky hammer. His opponent was Gaban, and the empty rum barrels in front of them had already piled up into a small mountain.
"Burp… Miller, you're not looking so good. Your face is pale!" Gaban said, putting down his barrel and patting his belly, his expression completely unchanged.
"Nonsense! This is… the flush of excitement!" Miller Pine retorted, but his swaying body betrayed him.
Not far away, beneath the mast, a man with an X-shaped scar on his forehead and a cigar perpetually in his mouth was cleaning his pistol. He was Colonel Mu Gulian, a former Marine they had met half a year ago on a base island, having fought their way into an acquaintance. He glanced at the two men drinking and snorted a disdainful puff of smoke from his nose. "Honestly, a couple of drunkards."
"Colonel, isn't it good to enjoy the vitality of youth?" a gentle voice asked.
With his red hair meticulously tied back and dressed in a nobleman's suit, the swordsman Spencer was holding a glass of red wine, leaning elegantly against the ship's rail. The surrounding commotion seemed to have nothing to do with him. He was originally a guard on a merchant ship, but both he and his ship had been "abducted" by Roger's overwhelming personal charm.
"Hmph." Colonel Mu Gulian did not respond further, merely glancing up toward the crow's nest. He was still holding a grudge about Gaban getting him drunk and making a fool of him two days ago.
In the crow's nest, a plump man was holding his beloved long-barreled sniper rifle. He wasn't on alert, but was instead shouting down at the deck. "Hey! You bastards, keep it down! You've scared away the seagulls in my scope!" This was the ship's sniper, Pittam.
Kyle sat on the giant figurehead at the bow of the ship, feeling mentally exhausted.
It had been two years, and he had grown accustomed to this routine. He looked at the other strange characters on the deck: Nozdon, the large man with a pointed head; Isaac, the quiet but highly skilled swordsman; Punk Rock, who was always tinkering with strange machinery; and Brumarine, who was responsible for the ship's logbook.
The Roger Pirates had grown from the initial four-person "makeshift crew" into a proper pirate crew of over a dozen people, and were beginning to take shape. 1 These people had been just a few lines of text, a few blurry silhouettes, in his memories. But now they were living, breathing, flesh-and-blood companions, each with a distinct personality.
Kyle remembered how they had recruited each one. To invite the aloof Colonel Mu Gulian to join, Roger had played "Russian Roulette" with him for three days and three nights. To persuade the noble Spencer, Rayleigh had talked with him all night, discussing everything from history and politics to poetry. To get the alcohol-loving Miller Pine to agree, Gaban had engaged in a drinking contest that emptied out every tavern in an entire town.
The addition of each companion came with a story that was both funny and frustrating. And he himself, Kyle, who was determined to become the "King of Connections," had played the role of… a binder. For example, he always remembered to add a slice of lemon to Spencer's red wine, just the way he liked it. He could chat with Punk Rock about mechanical transmissions, even if he only knew the basics. He was also the only one on the ship who could get Colonel Mu Gulian to listen to a full sentence before he started cursing.
His "influence" hadn't yet reached the point where he could order a Fleet Admiral to mobilize warships, but on this ship, it already held quite a bit of value.
"Yo, Kyle, spacing out again?" Rayleigh had sat down beside him at some point, handing him a warm cup of black tea.
"No," Kyle said, taking the teacup. "I was just thinking about what kind of monsters we've gathered on this ship."
"Kuhahaha! Of course, they're the best monsters!" Roger's voice boomed from behind them. He rushed to the bow like a gust of wind, stepping onto the ship's rail with one foot and spreading his arms as if to embrace the entire sea. "My lads! That island ahead looks interesting! Let's go have a feast!"
"OHHHH!"
Well, the tradition of impromptu feasts had certainly been passed down.
A thunderous cheer erupted on the deck. Miller and Gaban put down their barrels, Colonel Mu Gulian put away his pistol, and Pittam leaped down from the crow's nest, nearly smashing a hole in the deck. Everyone's face was filled with the same expression—a heartfelt excitement and anticipation for a new adventure.
"Captain, the chart shows that's an unmarked summer island. It might have unknown dangers," Spencer reminded him dutifully. 2
"Doesn't that just make it more interesting?" Roger turned back, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, his smile as bright as the sun.
"Exactly! Adventure! Adventure!" Nozdon roared, waving an arm that was thicker than Kyle's entire body.
Watching this chaotic scene, Kyle helplessly held his forehead, but a warm current flowed quietly through his chest. He once thought that the strength of the Roger Pirates lay solely in the core trio of Roger, Rayleigh, and Gaban. But now he understood that everyone on this ship was indispensable. It was the combination of all these diverse and eccentric individuals that formed the legendary group that would one day shock the world.
There were no strict hierarchies here, no infighting. The Captain would change course based on an "interesting" idea, and the crew would gamble all their belongings on a trivial competition. 3 They would cheer for their comrades' victories and quietly offer a drink when a comrade was feeling down.
Freedom, ease, and brotherhood.
Kyle looked back at Roger, who was waving vigorously at him. The sunlight spilled over him, and that boundless, infectious spirit of freedom was exactly the same as it was that night two years ago.
"Coming, coming, what's the rush?" he complained, but his steps were light as he followed. Yes, even though he was mentally exhausted, and even though none of these guys were reliable… it was so damn happy.
"Hey! You guys keep it down!" Kyle yelled over the noise.
A chorus of voices immediately replied, "Yes, Little Kyle!"
"Damn it! I was the third person to join this ship! You should all call me 'Senior'!"
"Yes, Senior Little Kyle!" someone shouted back gleefully.
"You idiots!" Kyle grumbled, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face.
The deck erupted in laughter.