Chapter 70: The Price of a Dream
Roger's words hung in the air. The feast below seemed to fade, the distant laughter and clinking cups swallowed by the sudden weight on the mushroom cap.
Whitebeard's hand tightened around his sake gourd. When he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous. "You want to take my son."
"For one year," Roger said, meeting his eyes. "I'll bring him back. I swear it."
"Swear?" Whitebeard's laugh was a rumble of thunder. "What is your word worth when you're asking me to break mine? Oden is my family. My crew does not leave."
Oden stood between them, his breath held, his heart pounding. He had found a family on Whitebeard's ship—a place he had never expected to belong. But the thing Roger spoke of—the final island, the truth at the end of the sea—was the dream that had driven him from Wano.
"Whitey," Oden said, his voice rough, "let me go. One year. Then I'll come back. I swear it too."
Whitebeard's jaw tightened. He did not look at Oden. He stared at Roger, and for a long moment, the two captains measured each other in silence.
Then Whitebeard's fist slammed into the mushroom cap. The shockwave split the air, and the crack that ran through the giant fungus was not the only thing that fractured. His Conqueror's Haki flared, a silent storm that made the sky itself seem to press down.
"You ask too much," Whitebeard said, but the fury was already fading. What remained was something heavier.
Oden dropped to his knees. "Please."
Whitebeard looked at him then—at the son who had chosen him, who had fought beside him, who now knelt with his eyes burning for something beyond this ship. The anger drained from his face, replaced by the quiet resignation of a father who had always known this moment would come.
He turned his back.
"One year," he said, his voice low. "No more."
He did not wait for an answer. He climbed down from the mushroom and walked toward his camp, his shadow long in the fading light.
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The farewell was not a celebration, but the crew of the Whitebeard Pirates knew how to send off a brother.
Marco pressed a bundle of medicine into Oden's hands. "From the ship's doctor. Don't waste it."
Jozu clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. "You better come back."
Thatch shoved a box of food into his arms. "Sea king meat. Enough for a week."
One by one, they came—men who had fought beside him, laughed with him, shared his table. Oden took each gift, each word, each clasped hand, and held them close. He looked for one face among them, the one that had been with him longest, the one he owed the most.
Whitebeard sat on his throne at the center of the camp, his back to the shore, a barrel of sake cradled in his arm. He did not turn.
Oden walked toward him, stopped a few paces away. He bowed—deep, longer than any warrior's salute.
"I'll come back," he said. "I swear."
Whitebeard did not move. His voice, when it came, was thick. "You better."
Oden straightened, turned, and walked toward the Oro Jackson. He did not look back.
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On the deck of the Roger ship, the crew had made room. Shanks and Buggy watched from the mast, their faces a mix of curiosity and awe. Rayleigh stood at the rail, his arms crossed, his expression calm. Kyle leaned against the cabin wall, his cup of juice forgotten in his hand.
Oden stepped aboard, his sandals steady on the adam wood. He turned once to look at the Whitebeard ship, at the men still gathered on the shore, at the massive figure who still refused to face him. Then he faced forward.
Roger clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome."
Oden's grin returned, fierce and bright. "Let's find the end of the world."
---
The Whitebeard camp was quiet as the Oro Jackson began to move. Men watched in silence, their cheers spent. At the center of it all, Whitebeard sat unmoving, his sake untouched.
A runner appeared at his side, breathless. "Captain! Roger left a chest—gold, jewels, supplies. He said it was thanks."
Whitebeard's head snapped up. His eyes blazed. "What are you standing there for?" he roared. "They don't know how to take care of anyone! Oden will be hungry before they clear the horizon! Send food! All of it!"
The crew scrambled, grabbing boxes, barrels, anything that would fit in a boat. The small vessel was loaded and launched before the Oro Jackson was a speck on the water.
When it reached the Roger ship, Oden was at the rail, laughing. He caught the lines himself, pulled the boat alongside, and when he saw the food, his laugh caught in his throat.
"He's still angry," Marco said from the shore, watching through a spyglass.
Whitebeard, still on his throne, reached for a fresh barrel. "He'll eat," he muttered. "That's what matters."
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Kyle watched the last of the supplies come aboard. He saw Oden's face as he handled the boxes, the way his hands lingered on the wrappings. He saw the shore receding, the figure on the throne still facing away.
He did not say anything. Some things needed no words.
The Oro Jackson caught the wind, her sails full, her course set. Behind them, the Whitebeard ship grew smaller, then vanished. Ahead, the sea waited.
Kyle finished his juice and went to find a place near the bow. The journey was not over. Not yet.
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End of Chapter 70