Kyle's calm, almost lazy face was reflected in Dragon's pupils. Dragon swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Even though the man had withdrawn the suffocating Haki from the bamboo skewer, an invisible pressure still enveloped him, heavy as a gravitational field. This man standing before him, though his posture was relaxed, felt like the very center of the world.
"Former Marine…" Dragon's voice came out a bit hoarse. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Mr. Kyle, please don't tease me."
Kyle grinned, showing a mouth full of white teeth. His smile was sharp, carrying a hint of mischievous amusement.
"You've got a good memory, little Dragon," he said. He took a step forward and casually reached out to pat the dust from Dragon's green cloak, which had grown stiff from the salty sea breeze. "How's old Garp doing these days? And what about you? Finally decided to bring a heinous pirate like me to justice all by yourself?"
Dragon's body tensed instantly, and a look of embarrassment crossed his face. He and Kyle were old acquaintances. Years ago, while following his father, Garp, in pursuit of the Roger Pirates, Dragon had been captivated by Kyle's unique perspective on the world. Kyle, in turn, had taken a liking to the passionate and idealistic young Marine, even offering him guidance in his training from time to time. In Dragon's eyes, Kyle was unlike any pirate he had ever met; he lacked their typical brutality and greed. He was more like a wise hermit who had seen through the world's foolishness and found it all boring, only occasionally baring his fangs to remind everyone he was still a monster.
Dragon remained silent, not rising to Kyle's playful teasing. His gaze drifted past Kyle's shoulder to the turbulent sea in the distance, his eyes filled with a complex, unreadable emotion.
Kyle watched him for a moment and understood. He remembered the young man in a brand-new Marine uniform at God Valley, his face a mixture of anger and confusion as he watched the Celestial Dragons slaughter slaves for sport. The fire in Dragon's eyes back then was different from Garp's fierce belief in the Marines' justice. Dragon's was a fire of destruction, a desire to burn away the world's rotten core. Perhaps that day had been the first spark.
"Tsk." Kyle clicked his tongue and, with a casual sweep of his arm, hooked it around Dragon's neck in a friendly headlock. "Speak your mind. Why were you sneaking around after me like that? It's not a good look."
Dragon's cheek twitched. "I wasn't," he managed to squeeze out through gritted teeth. He tried to pull away but found Kyle's arm was like an iron band, seemingly casual but holding him with a terrifying strength he couldn't resist. The realization made his heart tremble, forcing him to once again raise his estimation of this man's power.
"Don't give me that look," Kyle chuckled, beginning to drag him back towards the town. "I saw the news. 'Deserted the Marines,' 'holds dangerous ideologies,' 'whereabouts unknown'… a pretty impressive review. What's next, are you planning to start a rebellion and give Garp a heart attack?"
Dragon's steps froze. He looked up, his eyes suddenly sharp as knives. "How did you know…?"
"Know what? What you're planning to do?" Kyle glanced at him, his smile never fading. "Kid, when your eyes stop seeing only the justice of the Marines and start asking 'what is true justice,' your path is already set. Your face is practically screaming 'I want to overthrow this corrupt world.' It's not that hard to read."
Dragon was speechless. In front of Kyle, he felt completely exposed, as if all his secret thoughts and plans were laid bare. The feeling was deeply unsettling.
"What… What do you want from me?" Dragon finally gave up struggling, letting Kyle half-drag him along.
"What I want?" Kyle laughed as if he'd just heard the world's biggest joke. "Let's get it straight, you were the one following me. But…" He paused, his expression softening as he studied Dragon's young, heavy-hearted face. "Alright, alright. Come on, I'll buy you a drink. It's on me."
"I…"
"What? A former rising star of the Marines, now one of the World Government's most wanted, can't afford a single drink?"
Dragon fell silent and, after a moment, followed Kyle into a small alley that led back to the town's noisiest tavern. The air inside was thick with the smell of cheap rum, sweat, and roasted meat. Rough-looking pirates and townspeople were arm-in-arm, bragging loudly and slamming their mugs on the wooden tables.
Kyle, already familiar with the place, found a corner seat and leaned his naginata against the wall. He snapped his fingers towards the bar. "Bartender! Two barrels of your best rum! And ten pounds of roasted meat!"
His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the din with perfect clarity. Soon, a waiter brought over two large barrels of liquor and a massive platter of sizzling meat. Kyle filled two huge wooden mugs with the amber liquid.
"Drink," he said simply.
Dragon hesitated for a moment, then picked up the mug and downed it in one go. The spicy liquor burned its way down his throat, bringing a flush of color to his tense face. The two drank in silence, the tavern's noise becoming a distant backdrop. A barrel of rum was quickly emptied between them.
Dragon's tolerance was high, but his eyes grew hazy. He had so many questions he wanted to ask—about Roger, the Will of D., the truth of the world. But he didn't know where to begin.
Kyle finished his meal, let out a contented burp, and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Dragon, who was trying to drown his worries in alcohol, and finally spoke.
"So," Kyle's voice was low and steady, "that 'justice' you're searching for… have you found the answer yet?"
Dragon's mug paused mid-air. Kyle's casual question had struck him right at his core. The tavern's noise seemed to fade away. He looked up to find that his surroundings had become a blur; the only thing in focus was Kyle's face, his expression a mixture of amusement and deep understanding.
"You…" Dragon started to speak but found no sound came out. An invisible force was absorbing his voice the moment it left his throat.
Kyle raised a finger to his lips in a "shush" gesture. A nearly invisible ripple of energy lingered around his fingertip. "Soundproofing barrier," he explained lightly. "Just a little trick. The topic we're about to discuss isn't really for the big guy at the next table to overhear."
This sudden, imposed silence stripped away Dragon's final defenses. He put down his mug, and for the first time, a deep confusion and weariness appeared in his fiery eyes.
"I don't know," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "After I left the Marines, I traveled all over. The South Sea, West Blue… I've seen too many things that shouldn't exist in this world." His fists clenched under the table. "Endless wars, slavery, nobles treating people like animals… This world shouldn't be like this!"
He continued, his voice filled with pain. "I tried to fight back. I gathered others who felt the same, and we overthrew tyrants. People called us heroes. They looked at me as a symbol of hope. But… it was useless. We'd drive out one king, and the World Government would just prop up a new puppet, someone even more brutal. We'd liberate an island, and their agents would swarm in like sharks, extinguishing every spark of resistance."
He shook his head. "I feel like a child building sandcastles on the beach. No matter how fast I build, a single wave comes and washes it all away. I've killed so many people, and so many have followed me, but this world… it hasn't gotten better at all." He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Mr. Kyle, you reached the end of the Grand Line. You saw the truth. You must know… what's wrong with this world?"
Kyle listened quietly, chewing on a piece of meat. When Dragon finished, he swallowed and wiped his hands.
"That's a good question," Kyle said. "But your direction has been wrong from the start."
"Wrong?"
"You think you're fighting kings and nobles?" Kyle sneered. "No. You haven't even figured out who your real enemy is. You're just fighting puppets. The one pulling the strings is laughing where you can't see him." He dipped a finger in the spilled rum on the table.
"Look," he said, drawing a circle at the top. "These are the Celestial Dragons. They sit at the top and suck the life out of the entire world."
He drew a larger group of circles below it. "This is the World Government and the royal families. They're the Celestial Dragons' housekeepers. They plunder the people and offer the wealth to their masters."
He drew a line below that. "The Marines and Cipher Pol. They're the thugs the housekeepers hire to beat down anyone who refuses to pay rent."
Finally, he swept his palm across the entire bottom of the table. "And this… this is everyone else. Ninety-nine percent of the world. They farm, they fish, they build. They feed everyone above them, but they get almost nothing in return."
Kyle looked straight at Dragon. "What you're doing is getting a few tenants together to kill a security guard. So what? The master just sends a more vicious one. You're treating the symptoms, not the disease."
Dragon's breathing hitched. Kyle's simple analogy was like a thunderclap, shattering the fog in his mind. He had always seen the individual tyrants, but never the cold, functioning system of oppression.
"It's a structural problem," Dragon murmured.
"Exactly," Kyle said with a snap of his fingers. "So your revolution can't just be an uprising. You need to overthrow an order that has lasted for eight hundred years. Your true enemy isn't a person; it's an idea rooted in everyone's mind—the idea that the world is supposed to be this way."
"An idea?"
"Yes. You have to tell the tenants they weren't born to be exploited. You have to make them understand that their hard work is being stolen. You can't just give them weapons; you have to first give them a reason to fight. You don't lead the charge; you awaken them, so they stand up and take back what is theirs. Your enemy isn't the World Government; it's servility. Your weapon isn't a storm; it's thought. What you need isn't just a war. It's an enlightenment."
Each word struck Dragon like a hammer blow. He felt as if he had been stumbling in the dark, throwing punches at shadows. Kyle's words were a lighthouse, instantly illuminating the path forward. Overthrowing tyrants was just the first step. The true revolution was a revolution of thought.
The confusion in his eyes vanished, replaced by a resolute flame capable of burning down the world. He looked at Kyle with a new sense of awe.
"I…" Dragon's throat was thick with emotion. "I understand. Kyle… thank you."
Kyle just waved his hand and dismissed the sound barrier. The tavern's noise came rushing back in.
"Good that you understand," Kyle said, pouring them both another drink. "Just don't be all talk. You're going to be the World Government's number one criminal. When your bounty gets high enough, don't forget who bought you this drink today." He raised his mug.
"To this crappy world that's about to get interesting," he said, grinning. "And to the future… revolutionary. Cheers."
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