"Captain Roger! Don't be reckless!"
"We can't fly!"
"Even if we reach Mary Geoise, we'll never make it out—"
"Calm down, calm down!"
The crew clung to their idiot captain, faces flushed and near tears.
"If we can't escape, then we won't!" Roger bellowed, teeth grinding, fury twisting his face. "That bastard Sengoku gave a Marine brat a higher bounty than me… He's mocking me!"
The crew's mouths twitched in unison. Speechless.
Bounties weren't set by strength alone. Destructive potential, the threat to the World Government's rule, the size and discipline of one's forces, temperament—especially an uncontrollable urge to cause chaos—all of it mattered.
That Marine brat, Rogers Darren, was monstrous in physique and power, but in overall combat ability he was, at best, on par with Vice-Captain Rayleigh—certainly not on Roger's level. The Government's outrageous figure clearly accounted for Darren's Devil Fruit, his Flying Fleet, and his volatility.
Even the Roger Pirates didn't provoke the Marines or attack the World Government for no reason.
But that brat? He would.
As the crew wrestled their hot-blooded captain down, Rayleigh rolled his eyes and snapped, "You sure you want to go, Roger? We're on the verge of the Final Island. Walk away now and everything we've done is wasted."
Roger froze, face hardening. He sheepishly drew his foot back, muttered a curse, and stalked deeper into the cave.
Outside, the downpour hammered the jungle. Inside, Roger squatted against the damp wall, swigging sake and scratching sullen circles in the dirt.
"Dammit… that Marine brat kills a handful of Celestial Dragons and suddenly he's got the highest bounty in the world."
Kozuki Oden dropped into a squat beside him like a fellow sufferer, saying nothing, only nursing his bottle. The resentment pooling off the pair felt like a purplish fog.
Rayleigh and the others exchanged helpless looks. Dealing with a captain like this was exhausting.
Rayleigh rubbed his temples, then glanced toward the two figures by the bonfire. A frown creased his brow. "Shanks, how's Buggy? Any better?"
Shanks sat cross-legged in the firelight, its flicker wavering across his young face. Red-nosed Buggy lay on a cloak, cheeks flushed with fever, features twisted in pain.
"Still out," Shanks said, dampening a cloth for Buggy's forehead. "The fever won't break."
"Don't worry. It's a cold," Crocus said, taking the thermometer and patting Shanks's shoulder. "Devil Fruit users are fragile in storms. Give him two days and he'll be up."
He nodded at Rayleigh, and Rayleigh nodded back before turning to Gaban. "Find anything on the last route?"
Gaban frowned over a magnetic compass, the needle spinning madly. "The magnetic field here is chaos. Even with the final clue from the Road Poneglyph, the exact sea route's still a mystery."
"The New World's waters are treacherous. You can have the right heading and still lose your way in these seas."
"But one thing's certain—we're at the threshold. Once we find the 'entrance,' we'll reach the Final Island."
"An entrance?" Rayleigh echoed, and the others fell into grim thought.
They'd been circling these waters for half a month, hunting that one opening. Cheer masked the strain, but a shadow had settled in. The Oro Jackson's provisions and medicine were nearly gone. If they drifted much longer, they'd run dry before Garp even found them.
Buggy's fever lingered because their stock was empty; all he had left was his own constitution.
"What's that?!" someone cried.
They all turned—and stared, thunderstruck.
"The sea… it's splitting!"
"A route—in the heart of the storm!"
"Could it be—?"
A colossal whirlpool yawned open in the distance, thunder tearing at the sky while golden lightning writhed through the pitch-black funnel. Roaring water hollowed itself into a vast, transparent undersea tunnel.
The compass in Gaban's hand shook, the spinning needle snapping to a halt—pointing straight into that tunnel.
Gaban leapt up, eyes blazing. "That's it!"
"The final sea route!"
"The entrance to the Final Island! We've found it!"
Hearts hammering, fists clenched, the crew erupted. After half a month of wrestling the sea and despair, hope burst through at last.
And there—at the tunnel's distant end—an island's faint outline took shape.
The Final Island.
"Hahahahaha! Set sail!" Roger sprang to his feet, the bounty forgotten, joy surging through him. "Set sail!"
"Land ho!"
"Our last stop!"
"Final Island, here we come!"
Their roar shook the cave, gloom blown away like smoke.
"But… what about Buggy?" Crocus asked, hesitant.
"I'll stay," a young voice said.
Shanks had stared at the awe-inspiring tunnel for a long moment. He tore his gaze away and looked down at Buggy, writhing in a fever haze. After a heartbeat of struggle, he set his jaw.
"He needs someone to look after him."
Under the crew's eyes, the red-haired boy drew a breath and smiled.
"Besides… if it weren't for me, he wouldn't be a Devil Fruit user in the first place."
To be continued...