Chapter 91: Roger Pirates! Disband!
The word hung in the air, heavier than any anchor. Jabba was the first to break the silence, his voice too loud, too rough.
"Disband? You just became Pirate King, and now you're getting rid of us? That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."
"Yeah! I haven't even collected my share of the treasure yet!" another crewmate added, but his laugh cracked.
"What about my plans? I was going to open a bar!"
"A bar? You'd drink all the stock yourself."
The deck filled with noise—loud, forced, desperate to fill the space Roger had opened. Men who had faced storms and armies now could not look at each other without their voices breaking.
Roger let them talk. He waited until the noise began to fade, then raised a barrel of sake.
"Kuhahaha! Then let's drink. One last time. With your stingy captain."
They drank. The cups clinked, the sake spilled, and for one night, they were still the Roger Pirates.
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The voyage back was slow, each island a farewell. The Oro Jackson did not race toward a destination; she drifted, as if the sea itself was reluctant to let her go.
In the gray light of early morning, the crew gathered on deck. Roger emerged from his cabin, a small bag on his back. He walked first to Shanks.
The boy stood rigid, his hands at his sides, his face turned down. He had known this moment was coming. Knowing did not make it easier.
Roger looked at him for a long moment. Then he untied the straw hat from his neck and placed it on Shanks's head.
The brim slipped, covering the boy's eyes.
"This is for you, Shanks. A promise."
Shanks's hands came up, gripping the hat. His shoulders shook, but he did not make a sound.
Buggy stood a few paces away, his arms crossed, his face turned to the sea. His jaw was tight. He told himself he did not want a hat, did not want anything from the captain. He had his own treasures.
Roger turned to him. "Ah. I almost forgot."
From inside his coat, he drew a dagger. The sheath was dark, the hilt set with a small stone. Even sheathed, it carried a presence—sharp, patient, waiting.
"This is for you, Buggy. I've kept it with me. It should serve you well."
Buggy stared. His arms fell to his sides. When he took the dagger, his hands were trembling. "I don't… I didn't ask for anything."
"I know." Roger's grin was gentle. "That's why I'm giving it to you."
Buggy clutched the dagger to his chest, his face red, his eyes wet. He did not thank him. He could not.
Roger moved through the crew. To Rayleigh: "I'm leaving the rest to you." Rayleigh nodded, his glasses hiding his eyes. To Jabba: "Don't drink yourself into the sea." Jabba looked away, his fists clenched. To each man, a word, a hand, a memory.
Finally, he stopped in front of Kyle.
"You carried us when we needed it," Roger said. "You carried me. Thank you."
Kyle looked at the man who had found him on an island, who had given him a home, who had taught him what freedom meant. "Bon voyage, Captain."
Roger smiled. He turned and walked down the gangplank. He did not look back.
The crew stood at the rail, watching him go. Shanks held his hat. Buggy gripped his dagger. Rayleigh's glasses were off, wiped clean. Jabba drank, letting the sake burn.
At the end of the pier, Roger stopped. His back was to them, his fist raised high against the morning sky.
He held it there for a long moment, a salute to the ship, to the men, to the years they had given him. Then he lowered his hand and walked on.
No one spoke. The sea was quiet. The Oro Jackson had carried them to the end of the world, and now, one by one, they would find their own way home.
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End of Chapter 91