Dawn pierced through the clouds, spilling light across a beach littered with chaos.
Pirates and Marines had achieved something unprecedented on this tiny stretch of sand—
a historic night of "peaceful co-sleeping."
Miller Pine's massive beard still had half a roasted fish stuck in it. His fearsome spiked war hammer was being used as a pillow by a young Marine recruit, the two of them snoring in perfect synchronization.
Mugren the Colonel's cigar had fallen into the sand, his pistols neatly placed at his side, while he himself leaned against a Marine's wine barrel, dead asleep.
Not far away, Spencer's once-elegant noble attire was wrinkled into a miserable heap. Several Marine officers lay beside him—apparently they had discussed poetry, philosophy, and the meaning of life late into the night, before all drowning together in the sea of alcohol.
The entire beach reeked of burnt meat, sour rum…
and an intense, unmistakable manly stench.
Kyle was one of the very few still awake.
Dark circles hung under his eyes as he sat atop the ship's figurehead, staring expressionlessly at this so-called miracle of history.
By now, Kyle had come to a profound realization:
So-called "adventure" was really just a bunch of overly affectionate burly men going sightseeing together.
His Ripple-Ripple Fruit had a convenient non-combat application—using specific sound frequencies to stimulate the brain and stay awake.
The price was that he had been forced to witness the entire transformation from killing intent → arm-in-arm drinking → collective corpse-mode.
His gaze slowly swept the beach… and finally stopped at the center of the extinguished bonfire.
There, the future Pirate King Gol D. Roger and the future Marine Hero Monkey D. Garp were sleeping forehead to forehead, drool flowing freely.
Kyle's temples throbbed.
Rivals?
This was clearly a pair of long-lost brothers.
"Ugh… water…"
Scopper Gaban's hoarse groan shattered the morning calm. He sat up, rubbing his bird-nest hair, eyes unfocused. When he spotted a Marine brute hugging his precious barrel of liquor like a lover, his eyes instantly went red.
"Bastard! Give my booze back!"
That single roar was like a declaration of war.
"Who's shouting…"
"My head's splitting…"
"Why can't I feel my legs?!"
Pirates and Marines alike rose shakily, like zombies summoned from the dead.
They stared blankly at the enemies beside them—last night's brotherhood hazy, but the instinctive hostility etched into their muscles already waking up.
In mere seconds, the atmosphere shifted from hungover confusion to dangerous tension.
"Kuahahaha… slept great!" Roger stretched lazily and slapped Garp's back with a loud thump.
"Oi—! It's you, brat!" Garp jolted awake, rubbed his eyes, then broke into a grin full of gunpowder.
"It's morning already? Looks like your execution day's come!"
"Don't be so sure! Maybe you're the one we'll ditch again!" Roger shot back.
The two stood, glaring at each other, identical flames burning in their eyes.
With their commanders' "friendly greetings," both sides instinctively regrouped—pirates retreating to their ship, Marines reforming ranks. Last night's harmony vanished without a trace.
Newer crew members like Nozdon and Isaac felt their brains overheating.
They backed away mechanically, eyes flicking between Roger and Garp, desperately trying to understand how two men could sleep together one moment and try to kill each other the next.
"Alright, lads! Pack up—we're setting sail!" Roger waved dismissively, completely ignoring the murderous Marine fleet opposite him.
"Vice Admiral Garp! Shall we commence the attack?" a young Marine lieutenant asked nervously.
Garp dug in his nose, glanced at his equally hungover, wobbling subordinates, and waved his hand impatiently.
"Attack my ass. You wanna die? Everyone back to the ships—we'll deal with them next time!"
And just like that, a battle destined to shake the seas ended because both commanders felt the timing was bad.
As the ships drifted apart—
"Roger—!" Garp roared from his bow, voice strong enough to stir waves.
"Next time, I'll personally throw you into Impel Down!"
"Kuahahahaha!" Roger roared back.
"Try it, Garp! Just don't get taken out by some nobody before then!"
The sea wind carried their words—an understanding no outsider could ever grasp.
Kyle stood behind Roger, lips twitching as he muttered under his breath,
"Yeah, yeah, every time with this routine… Impel Down my ass. Sounds more like a wedding hall."
Then—
"Oi! You there, kid!"
Kyle froze. A terrible premonition crept up his spine.
He looked up to see Garp pointing straight at him, flashing a terrifyingly bright grin.
"Next time, I'm dragging you to Marineford! Wash your neck and wait for me! Hahahaha!"
Silence fell over the Roger Pirates.
All eyes snapped to Kyle.
Veterans were holding back laughter.
Newcomers like Nozdon, Isaac, and Punklow were utterly stunned.
"Pff—HAHAHAHA!" Gaban burst out laughing first.
"Did you hear that, Kyle? Garp personally wants you arrested!"
"Special Marine invitation! What an honor, Senior Kyle!" Miller roared.
"Why… why is Vice Admiral Garp so fixated on Kyle…?" Nozdon whispered, his sharp head full of question marks.
Spencer adjusted his collar gracefully, smiling knowingly.
"Perhaps in Garp's eyes, Kyle is the only one here who can still be 'saved.'"
Kyle's face turned pitch black.
Saved?
Old man, worry about your own kid first—Dragon's about to go revolutionary any minute now!
And what's with "wash your neck"? Why does that sound so wrong?!
He endured the teasing, the curiosity, the awe—feeling his "senior" authority becoming firmer… and somehow much stranger.
Taking a deep breath, he shouted back at the departing warship:
"I REFUSE! GO EAT YOUR CRACKERS!"
Whether Garp heard it was unclear.
But the Roger Pirates burst into laughter.
"Kuahahaha! Well said, Kyle!" Roger slapped his shoulder, laughing till tears streamed.
Rayleigh walked over, smiling as he handed Kyle a cup of orange juice.
"You did well. Dealing with both Garp's cannonballs and his recruitment isn't easy."
Kyle downed the juice, finally easing the knot in his chest.
Yesterday, he had blocked Garp's shells with Exploding Phoenix Cry, scattered the fleet with Azure Dragon Tornado, and proved his strength to every newcomer.
Today, Garp's casual shout had cemented his status in an entirely different way.
Embarrassing… but effective.
"Hey."
Isaac, the taciturn swordsman, approached and handed Kyle a clean cloth.
"Yesterday… you were strong."
Simple words. Absolute respect.
"S-So cool! Senior Kyle! Take me with you next time we fight!" Nozdon blurted out.
Seeing the complete trust in their eyes, Kyle felt every ache, every awkward moment pay off.
He wiped his face, his familiar sly, fox-like smile returning.
Face saved—more or less.
"BANQUET TIME!" Roger yelled again.
"Captain! We just had one!"
"We escaped Garp again! Isn't that worth celebrating?!"
"OHHHHH!"
Yep.
Random banquets were truly this crew's sacred tradition.
Kyle rubbed his forehead helplessly—
but his smile wouldn't fade.
Damn it… this really is fun.
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