The conversations flowing across the Sky Screen had mellowed into comfortable reminiscences—tales of Roger's crew sharing drinks, chasing after island beauties, and recounting the more embarrassing moments that made legends seem human. Nothing earth-shattering, just the kind of intimate details that built bonds between those who'd sailed the Grand Line together.
Rayleigh set down his sake cup with a soft clink, the sound cutting through Luffy's enthusiastic chewing. The Dark King's weathered eyes studied Buggy across the low table, reading the subtle tension in the clown's painted features.
"Buggy," Rayleigh said, his voice carrying the authority that had once commanded Roger's right hand, "you didn't seek out Luffy and me just for a meal. If you have something to say, speak plainly."
Buggy's theatrical grin faltered for just a moment—a crack in the facade that spoke volumes. He leaned back, fingers drumming against his crossed arms as he chose his words carefully.
"After Marineford, I knew you'd take Luffy under your wing. 2 years of training, learning Haki from the ground up—that should be sufficient." Buggy's voice grew sharper, cutting through the comfortable atmosphere like a blade. "But I'm concerned you'll do more harm than good if you continue. Roger and Luffy are fundamentally different fighters. Forcing the kid to walk Roger's path will only squander his potential."
The words hit Rayleigh like a slap. His sake cup trembled slightly in his weathered grip as he processed the accusation. 2 years. Two gruelling years of pushing himself beyond his limits to forge this rubber-bodied boy into something worthy of the Pirate King's legacy, and now he was being told it was all misguided effort?
"That's quite the accusation," Rayleigh said quietly, though anyone who knew him could hear the dangerous undercurrent in his tone.
Meanwhile, the subject of their debate continued his single-minded assault on the feast before him. Luffy's jaw worked like a machine, stuffing rice balls, roasted fish, and strips of Sea King meat into his seemingly bottomless stomach. Sauce smeared across his cheeks as he demolished plate after plate with the desperate efficiency of someone who'd been surviving on island fruits and whatever small game he could catch. To an outsider, it might have looked like Rayleigh had been starving him for the past 2-years.
"Without Haki, what else would he learn?" Rayleigh's voice rose slightly, his patience wearing thin. "The New World is ruled by those who've mastered Haki. With Luffy's reckless nature, if he doesn't achieve proficiency in all three forms, he'll never survive what's coming."
Buggy's laugh was sharp and mocking. "Three forms of Haki—is that really the answer to everything? Luffy ate a Devil Fruit, didn't he? He should be developing those abilities to their absolute limit. As for Haki..." The clown shrugged dismissively. "Adequate will suffice."
The philosophical divide between them was clear as day. Rayleigh, product of the previous era, believed in the supremacy of Haki—the power that had carried Roger to the pinnacle of piracy. Buggy represented a different school of thought, one that prioritized maximizing natural advantages rather than conforming to established patterns.
"Since we can't seem to agree," Buggy said, rising from his seat with theatrical flair, "perhaps a practical demonstration is in order."
His gaze shifted to the hulking figure who'd been quietly nursing a barrel of rum throughout their meal. "Bullet, you've absorbed everything I've taught you this past 2 years. Time to show this old relic that his methods belong in the past."
Douglas Bullet set down his barrel with a resonant thud, sake still gleaming on his chin as he grinned with predatory anticipation. Prison had done nothing to diminish his hunger for combat—if anything, 2 years of freedom and new techniques had only sharpened his edge.
"Rayleigh," Bullet rumbled, cracking his knuckles with sounds like breaking timber, "it's been too long since we've properly tested ourselves against each other. Don't expect me to hold back just because you've gotten older."
"Nakime," Buggy called to the silent figure kneeling in the corner, "prepare a proper venue for these two."
The woman in traditional kimono raised her biwa with fluid grace. A single, resonant note rang out as her fingers struck the strings, and reality itself seemed to respond to the music. The floor beneath their feet began to shift and rotate, walls sliding past each other in impossible configurations as Infinity Castle reshaped itself according to its master's will.
Luffy's eyes went wide with wonder, a half-chewed piece of meat falling from his slack jaw as he watched their dining room transform. Buildings rose and fell like pieces on a cosmic game board, defying gravity and logic as Nakime's Devil Fruit power reorganized their surroundings.
After a full minute of architectural chaos, the changes ceased. Their dining area now sat elevated like a royal box, overlooking a circular arena that stretched out below them. The space was perfectly flat and scarred with the marks of previous battles—an ideal venue for what was about to unfold.
"I'm getting too old for this," Rayleigh muttered, but there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there moments before. The thrill of impending combat was awakening something in the Dark King that retirement hadn't quite managed to bury. "If I'd known this was coming, I would have stayed hidden forever."
"That's exactly the wrong mindset, old man," Bullet laughed, already loosening his shoulders. "Don't expect any mercy."
Both men descended to the arena floor with the easy confidence of those who'd faced death countless times. As they took their positions at opposite ends of the circle, the three spectators above settled in to witness what promised to be an extraordinary clash.
"Watch carefully, Rayleigh," Bullet called out, raising his fists in a classic boxing stance. "Let me show you what I've developed with my fruit."
But instead of the massive mech-like assembly everyone expected from the Gasha Gasha no Mi user, Bullet simply charged forward, his body remaining completely human-sized. His approach was pure, brutal simplicity—a frontal assault that spoke to decades of refined combat instinct.
Rayleigh's sword cleared its sheath in a silver flash, the blade immediately wreathed in the black sheen of Armament Haki as he met Bullet's charge head-on. The collision of fist against steel rang out like a church bell, sending shockwaves rippling through the arena floor.
What followed was a masterclass in high-level combat. Both fighters moved with the fluid precision of those who'd transcended mere technique, their Haki clashing in ways that made the very air shimmer. Armament reinforced their attacks while Observation guided their defenses, and occasional bursts of Conqueror's Haki added weight to their most decisive strikes.
Luffy had stopped eating entirely, his food forgotten as he stared with rapt attention at the battle below. He'd seen Rayleigh train, had even sparred with him countless times, but this was different. This was the Dark King unleashed, fighting with the intensity that had once made him the most feared first mate on the seas.
"After watching this long," Buggy said quietly, his voice carrying despite the thunderous exchanges below, "have you noticed anything unusual?"
Luffy blinked, tearing his gaze away from the spectacular combat long enough to look at Buggy with confused eyes. "Unusual? They're both incredible! I never realized Rayleigh was holding back so much during our training."
"Look more carefully," Buggy urged, his painted features unusually serious. "Pay attention to Rayleigh's attacks. His stamina and Haki are gradually diminishing—that's natural for someone his age. But doesn't Bullet seem to be getting stronger as the fight progresses?"
Down in the arena, Rayleigh was experiencing the same troubling realization. Each strike of his blade found its mark, cutting through Bullet's defenses and drawing blood, but something felt fundamentally wrong. Instead of wearing down his opponent, Bullet seemed to grow more ferocious with each exchange, his movements becoming sharper and his Haki more intense.
It defied everything Rayleigh understood about combat. Both fighters had started at full intensity—there should be no hidden reserves, no second wind this deep into the battle.
The Gasha Gasha no Mi was a Paramecia-type Devil Fruit that granted its user the ability to telekinetically disassemble and reassemble inorganic matter. With it, Douglas Bullet could tear apart ships, weapons, and fortresses, reshaping them into colossal war machines. It was a power that earned him the title of "Assimilation Human." But after two years training with Buggy, his fruit—and his fighting style—changed forever.
"I've been using my Gasha Gasha no Mi from the very beginning," Bullet declared, his grin widening as he caught Rayleigh's sword between his palms, muscles thrumming with unnatural energy. "But Buggy… he showed me a new path. Every wound you've dealt me, every bruise, every drop of blood—it doesn't slow me down. It becomes fuel. Your attacks aren't weakening me—they're rebuilding me, making me stronger."
Rayleigh's chest tightened at the revelation. This was not the reckless boy from Roger's ship who only trusted brute strength and towering machines. This was something far more dangerous—a warrior forged in battle and reshaped by the most unlikely of teachers.
Bullet's gaze flicked toward the sky, where Buggy was watching with wide, toothy pride. "Buggy taught me that survival isn't about armor or walls. It's about refusing to fall, no matter how badly you're hurt. So I took that lesson, and I fused it with my Devil Fruit. Instead of assembling weapons outside my body, I rebuild myself. Every strike disassembles me, and every strike reassembles me stronger than before. I've become a living engine of war."
Rayleigh's eyes narrowed, his sword hand tightening with grim realization. Stamina would be useless here. Skill would only feed the monster that Bullet had become. This wasn't a battle he could win by outlasting his opponent. Buggy's chaotic training had turned Bullet into something far worse—a machine that fed on conflict itself, a nightmare made flesh.
"That's incredibly unfair," Rayleigh said with a tired chuckle, stepping back and lowering his sword. "I'm too old to be fighting monsters like you. I'd prefer to live a few more years, thank you very much."
"Already giving up?" Bullet's disappointment was palpable, his fists still raised and ready. "Come on, I was just getting warmed up! We've barely scratched the surface!"
"Bullet, that's enough," Buggy's voice cut across the arena with unmistakable authority. "If you keep pushing, you'll damage our relationship with the Vice Captain. Both of you, come back up."
The command instantly cooled Bullet's battle fervor. He cast one last longing glance at Rayleigh before trudging toward the exit with obvious reluctance. "What a waste," he grumbled. "I finally had a decent opponent, and it ends before I could really enjoy myself."
Rayleigh climbed back to the dining area with a spring in his step that belied his earlier fatigue. Despite the loss, there was genuine satisfaction in his eyes—the contentment of someone who'd reminded himself what it felt like to truly fight again. For a retired pirate, the outcome mattered far less than the experience itself.
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