Dragon's knuckles, wrapped tightly around his wine mug, turned white from the force he was exerting. His eyes, which had been clouded by confusion for so long, now burned with an unprecedented brightness, as if a fire deep within his soul had been fully ignited by Kyle's words. He looked at the man across from him, opened his mouth, and was about to ask the most important question of his life—Please join us—but the words caught in his throat when he saw the knowing smile in Kyle's eyes.
"Don't even think about it," Kyle said, seeming to read his mind with ease. He lazily raised his hand and downed the last gulp of rum in his mug. "I'm not interested in saving the world. It's way too tiring." He slammed the huge wooden cup onto the table with a dull thud.
To be honest, while Kyle despised the corrupt, oppressive structure of the World Government, he had very little interest in the messy, thankless job of tearing it all down. He figured Roger probably felt the same way. It was likely why, at God Valley, they had teamed up with Garp to take down the Rocks Pirates instead of turning their power against the Celestial Dragons who were right there. For men like them, absolute power meant absolute freedom. And absolute freedom meant having the choice to flip the whole table over, or to simply sit back and enjoy the show. Kyle just wanted to do as he pleased, unconstrained by any rules or ideologies.
"I'd much rather be a carefree pirate than a hardworking revolutionary," Kyle continued, stretching his arms behind his head. "Eating grilled fish on one island today, watching the sunset from the sea tomorrow, getting into a good fight every now and then, and winning some money for drinks—now that's what I call living."
His words should have been like a bucket of cold water, but they did nothing to extinguish the fire in Dragon's eyes. Instead, they made him see things even more clearly. He understood. A man like Kyle was like the wind or the sea itself—a force of nature that could never be bound by any organization. Strangely, Dragon felt a sense of relief. He solemnly put down his mug, preparing to stand and take his leave.
"But," Kyle spoke again, dipping his finger into a puddle of spilled rum on the table and casually drawing circles on the rough wooden surface. "Since you've made up your mind, you should know that a lone commander can't accomplish much. To start a wildfire that covers the world, you first need a few fools willing to run into the blaze with you."
Dragon paused, listening intently.
"Go to the Sorbet Kingdom in the South Sea," Kyle said, tapping his fingertip on the table. "In a small church there, you'll find the first allies you need." His voice carried a hint of amusement. "You'll find a big man who is as kind as he is strong, and a girl as lively as a flame. Just tell them you want to create a world where everyone can eat their fill. That will be enough to make them your greatest strength."
Dragon nodded slowly. He asked no more questions, only giving Kyle one last, deep look, firmly engraving the guidance and the favor in his heart. He then stood and bowed respectfully.
"I understand."
Without another word, the future revolutionary turned. His iconic green cloak swirled around him as he strode out of the tavern. There was no longer any trace of confusion in his posture. Every step he took was incredibly firm, as if he were carving out a new path for the world with his very feet. Just as Dragon reached the tavern's front door, Kyle's leisurely voice called out from behind him.
"Hey, little Dragon."
Dragon stopped and turned his head. He saw Kyle still leaning back in his chair, his right hand held across his chest in a peculiar, claw-like gesture.
"Follow the guidance of the winds of fate!"
Dragon's pupils constricted, and for a moment, he thought he saw the image of endless storms converging in Kyle's hand. For the first time that day, a genuine, confident smile spread across his lips. He mimicked Kyle's gesture, placing his right hand across his own chest.
"Understood."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the night.
...
After sending off the man who was about to give the world a rude awakening, Kyle reverted to his old ways as a "loafer of the sea." He continued his journey—or more accurately, his aimless wandering.
In the Gourmet Kingdom in the West Blue, he spent three days feasting on local delicacies, only to get chased across half the island by a furious chef after winning too much money in the local casino. In the Rubunir Kingdom of the North Blue, he heard rumors of a "Ten-Thousand-Year Ice Crystal" that could supposedly cure any disease. He rushed there filled with hope, only to discover it was just a pretty piece of ice, useless for anything other than chilling his fruit juice.
Time moved on, relentlessly writing its stories. Kyle's travel log grew longer and longer, filled with strange lands and forgotten legends, but the one item that mattered most remained unchecked. He journeyed across all Four Seas, but Roger's illness showed no signs of a cure. Every miracle doctor and legendary medicine he chased down turned out to be nothing but a dead end or a cruel joke.
Unconsciously, the calendar turned to the year 1498 of the Sea Calendar.
On this day, Kyle was lying on the deck of a small fishing boat, a piece of straw dangling from his mouth, leisurely fishing on the edge of the Calm Belt. The sun was warm, the sea was as still as glass, and he was so comfortable he was about to doze off.
Purupuru puru... Purupuru puru...
Kacha.
The golden Den Den Mushi on his waist, a special gift from Roger that hadn't rung in a very long time, suddenly began to chirp.
Kyle didn't even open his eyes. He slowly pulled out the Den Den Mushi and answered. "Moshi moshi?"
A robust, boisterous laugh, loud enough to shatter eardrums, erupted from the other end.
"KUHAHAHA! KYLE! IT'S ME!"
The Den Den Mushi perfectly mimicked the speaker's distinctive mustache and a grin so wide it seemed to stretch from ear to ear. The piece of straw in Kyle's mouth dropped to the deck. He shot up from his lounging position, all traces of laziness vanishing from his face in an instant.
"Roger?"
"Hahahaha! Who else would it be! Rayleigh and I are drinking at the Sabaody Archipelago! Where in the world have you been hiding? You get your butt over here right now! I'm giving you half a day, and if you're not here, the next time we meet, I'll tie you to the bow and use you as a figurehead!"
Listening to that familiar, vibrant voice, so full of life, Kyle couldn't help but let out a smile and a curse. "You old geezer, you're not dead yet?"
"BASTARD! I'M THE PIRATE KING! HOW COULD I DIE SO EASILY!" Roger roared back. "NOW STOP WASTING TIME! GET OVER HERE!"
Kacha.
The call was abruptly hung up.
Kyle held the silent Den Den Mushi, stunned for a moment. Then, a helpless, happy smile spread across his face. He stood up, stretched with a huge yawn, his bones cracking and popping.
"Honestly, no consideration for an old man at all..."
The next second, the sea beneath his feet suddenly caved in, forming a massive depression without any warning. An instant later, the seawater erupted violently upwards.
BOOM!
A terrifying, circular shockwave exploded out from under the fishing boat. The immense force propelled the small vessel forward like a cannonball, tearing through the calm air and speeding towards Sabaody Archipelago. Behind it, a long white wake stretched across the glassy sea, reaching as far as the eye could see.
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