Chapter 15: The King's Right Hand
The island rose from the sea like a clenched fist—dense jungle, high cliffs, the kind of place that promised either nothing or everything.
Kyle limped onto the beach, every muscle from yesterday's Haki training screaming in protest. He collapsed face‑first into the sand. "I'm never moving again."
Roger bounded past him, already halfway up the beach. "Adventure! Adventure!"
"Of course." Kyle didn't bother lifting his head. "Why would he need rest?"
Rayleigh stepped off the ship, adjusting his glasses. "He said he sensed something interesting."
"He says that about every island." Kyle pushed himself up, brushing sand from his clothes. "Last time 'something interesting' was a nest of giant hornets."
"That was interesting."
Kyle gave Rayleigh a flat look. The older man smiled faintly and began walking along the shoreline, examining the vegetation.
Kyle followed, trying to shake the soreness from his shoulders. The island was beautiful—towering trees, clear streams, the kind of place that might have been paradise if it weren't for Roger's track record.
"Rayleigh," Kyle said, kicking a pebble. "How did you meet Roger?"
Rayleigh was quiet for a moment. "He found me."
"That's all?"
"I was alone, on a boat. He decided we were fated to meet." Rayleigh's lips twitched. "He asked me to help him turn the world upside down."
Kyle snorted. "Did he also set your house on fire?"
Rayleigh didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
"I knew it."
---
A thunderous crash echoed from the island's center.
The ground shook. Birds erupted from the canopy in a dark cloud. Trees cracked and fell.
Kyle and Rayleigh exchanged looks.
"I'll take that as a yes," Kyle muttered.
They moved.
---
The jungle blurred past. Kyle pushed his sore legs harder, following Rayleigh's lead. The sounds of battle grew louder—metal ringing, wood splintering, and Roger's unmistakable laugh.
They broke into a clearing that had been carved out of the forest. Trees lay in splinters, the ground gouged with deep furrows. And in the center, two figures clashed.
Roger was laughing, his sword meeting the blows of a tall man wielding two massive battle axes. The man was young—maybe Roger's age—with tied‑back hair and dark glasses. His attacks were wild but controlled, each swing powerful enough to crater the earth.
Kyle's breath caught.
He knew that face. Not from this life—from memory. A name surfaced: Scopper Jabba. The third member of Roger's legendary trio. Gold, Silver, and Bronze.
He's here.
Rayleigh watched with calm interest. "Roger found his interesting thing."
Jabba's axes crashed against Roger's blade, sending sparks flying. The ground beneath them cracked. Roger was smiling like a child at a festival.
"Kuhahaha! You're strong!"
Jabba didn't answer. He pressed the attack, axes swinging in relentless arcs. Roger gave ground—not because he had to, Kyle realized, but because he was enjoying himself.
Then Roger's eyes flicked toward Rayleigh and Kyle. His grin sharpened. "Ah, they're here. Time to finish."
The air changed.
Kyle felt it before he saw it—a weight, a pressure that made his chest tighten. Roger's blade darkened, and black‑red lightning crackled along its edge. Jabba's eyes widened. He brought his axes up, crossing them to block.
Roger swung.
The sound wasn't loud. It was something else—a pressure that bypassed the ears and struck something deeper. Kyle's vision blurred. When it cleared, Jabba was on the ground, his axes cracked, his body half‑buried in the torn earth. He was unconscious but breathing.
Roger sheathed his sword, looking disappointed. "I wanted to play longer."
"You played plenty," Rayleigh said, walking toward Jabba.
Kyle followed, his heart still racing. That was Conqueror's Haki. Not just a wave of pressure—something focused, something precise. He'd seen power before, but this was different.
I want that, he thought. One day.
---
Jabba woke to Kyle's vibration pulse—a gentle hum that brought him back without startling him. He sat up slowly, his hands already reaching for his broken axes. When he found them, his jaw tightened.
Roger crouched beside him, offering a water skin. "Those were good axes."
Jabba stared at him. "You broke them."
"Kuhahaha! I did." Roger didn't seem bothered. "But you fought well. What's your name?"
"Scopper Jabba."
"I'm Roger. The man with the glasses is Rayleigh. The kid is Kyle." Roger gestured behind him. "What's your dream, Jabba?"
Jabba blinked. "My dream?"
"Everyone has one. Mine's to see the whole world. All of it. Every island, every sea." Roger's eyes were bright. "What's yours?"
Jabba was quiet for a long moment. Then he took the water skin, drank, and wiped his mouth. "To travel. See everything. And then…" He almost smiled. "Find a good woman. Tall."
"Kuhahaha! A tall woman!" Roger slapped his knee. "Good dream. I approve."
He stood, offering his hand. Jabba looked at it, then at Roger's face.
"You're not going to kill me?"
"Why would I kill you? You're interesting." Roger's grin was infectious. "Come with us. Travel the world. See everything. Then find your tall woman."
Jabba stared. Slowly, a smile spread across his face—real, not forced. He took Roger's hand and let himself be pulled up.
"Alright," he said. "I'll come."
---
Kyle watched from the edge of the clearing. He'd seen Roger recruit Rayleigh the same way—a fight, a question, an invitation. It shouldn't work. But it did. Roger had a way of making people believe they could be more than they were.
Jabba noticed Kyle watching. His gaze lingered on the naginata strapped to Kyle's back. "Kid's a fighter?"
"He's our monster," Roger said proudly. "Took down a whole pirate crew by himself. Six years old."
Jabba's eyebrows rose. "Six?"
Kyle straightened, meeting his eyes. "Six."
Jabba looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "We'll spar sometime."
Kyle's heart leaped. "I'd like that."
---
They walked back to the ship together, Roger and Jabba in front, already deep in conversation about the islands Jabba had seen. Rayleigh walked beside Kyle, quiet as always.
"He seems nice," Kyle said.
"He's strong," Rayleigh replied. "Roger doesn't recruit the weak."
Kyle thought about that. About the gap between him and Jabba, between him and Rayleigh, between him and Roger. It was vast. But it was shrinking.
He touched the bounty poster in his shirt, then dropped his hand. 1.5 million. Small. But not for long.
Rayleigh glanced at him. "You're thinking about your bounty again."
"No," Kyle lied.
Rayleigh's lips curved. "Good. Because it doesn't matter. What matters is what you do next."
Ahead, Roger's laugh echoed across the beach. Jabba was laughing too, already part of the crew, already part of the madness.
Kyle quickened his pace to catch up.
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End of Chapter 15
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