The New World. A certain island.
The Oro Jackson lay anchored at the shore, its skull-flag with the sea-wave mustache fluttering in the brisk ocean breeze.
A bonfire crackled along the coast.
Gathered around it, the crew of the Roger Pirates laughed uproariously, smoking and drinking with gusto.
Chunks of marbled at sizzled on the fire, juices dripping onto the coals and filling the air with a rich, mouth-watering aroma.
"To think Garp actually gave up chasing us... now that is strange," said Rayleigh, adjusting his glasses as he took a sip from his jug, frowning slightly.
"Hahahaha!! That's because Garp knows he can't beat , so he gave up!" Roger bellowed, laughing heartily. He eagerly sliced a piece of roasted at, drizzled it with sauce, and took a large bite.
Juices exploded over his tongue, the savory fat flooding his senses. He closed his eyes in sheer delight.
Rayleigh rolled his eyes at the blunt comnt.
"It's probably sothing more serious than that..."
Gaban, puffing on a cigar, spoke in a low voice. His twin black battle axes glead beside him, reflecting the sunlight with a cold sheen.
"Serious business, huh..." Rayleigh muttered as he downed another swig.
"Since that battle back then, Garp never let us out of his sight. Ignored even orders from the World Governnt."
Roger threw an arm around Rayleigh's shoulder with a grin.
"Why overthink it? Isn't it good news for us? If that Garp bastard hadn't run off, would we be sitting here enjoying at and drink like this?"
Rayleigh sighed. "You have a point..."
"Exactly! Live in the mont, that's what matters!" Roger lifted his jug high.
"Tonight, we drink till we drop!!"
"Yeah!!" the crew roared in unison, the flas flickering with their excitent.
Rayleigh rubbed his temple.
Drinking is fine. Eating is fine. But Roger, you bastard... could you not wipe your greasy hands on my clothes...
He eyed the oily handprint on his shoulder with a twitching mouth.
Suddenly—
All three—Rayleigh, Roger, and Gaban—sensed it.
A glimr of red sparked deep in their eyes.
BOOM!!
The sea exploded into a towering column of water.
A small submarine launched out of the depths like a blade slicing through ice, slamming into the beach.
"Who's there!?"
"An enemy!?"
"A submarine!?"
"Could it be the Marines!?"
The Roger Pirates leapt to their feet, gripping weapons, alert and ready as the submarine left a deep trench in the sand.
Clank.
The hatch opened with a heavy thud.
A burly figure with ssy golden hair erged.
"You... are Roger?"
He scanned the crowd, locking onto the man in the blood-red captain's coat. A wild smirk tugged at his lips.
Roger squinted at him for two seconds before his grin broke across his face.
"That's right. And you are?"
BOOM!
A massive surge of Conqueror's Haki erupted from the golden-haired youth, crashing over the beach like a tidal wave. The entire atmosphere seed to freeze.
"Douglas Bullet."
Crimson lightning crackled around him as his hair whipped wildly. His pupils flared red with bloodthirst.
"I've co to challenge... the strongest!"
With that, he shot forward like a released beast, charging straight for Roger!
---
Ten seconds later.
BANG!
Bullet's body slamd into the submarine with a tallic crunch, denting the steel hull.
Blood dribbled from his lips as he stared at Roger—who hadn't even moved from his seat and was still chewing on at—with utter disbelief.
"How... How could the gap be this wide...?"
Roger tore off another piece of at and grinned.
"You're strong, kid. But to challenge ? You're a few hundred years too early."
"Damn it..."
Rage filled Bullet's eyes—but before he could react, a jug flew through the air and landed in his arms.
"You haven't eaten yet, have you, kid?"
He blinked, staring into Roger's easygoing, confident face. Around him, the Roger Pirates offered warm, inviting smiles.
"Even if you want to fight more... you need to eat first."
Roger chuckled.
"Isn't that right?"
---
Sowhere else in the New World, in a bustling comrcial town, the streets overflowed with life.
Shops lined the roads, packed with dazzling goods.
Darren strolled leisurely, a cigar in his mouth, soaking in the rare mont of peace.
His Marine uniform had long since been torn to shreds during battle and captivity. He now wore a clean white shirt, casual black slacks, and a loosely tied black necktie. The look gave him a roguish elegance that drew admiring glances from won and noble ladies alike.
He entered a bar. As the wooden door swung shut, the noise and sunlight from outside disappeared.
Inside, dim lights cast a llow glow. Soft music flowed through the air.
"Whiskey. On the rocks."
He sat at the counter and gestured to the bartender.
"Also, got a map?"
A drink was necessary, but information was essential.
Places like bars, brothels, and casinos often served as local intelligence hubs.
Since he'd never been to the New World before, he needed to pinpoint his current location.
After everything he'd been through, Darren felt confident enough to say: even in this sea dubbed the "Pirate Graveyard," few could stop him now.
As long as he didn't run into those legendary monsters...
Taking the whiskey and the map, he casually tossed a few bills onto the counter.
He took a sip—the burn rolled down his throat, rich and fierce. He squinted with pleasure.
Unfolding the crude map, Darren quickly identified the position of this neutral island.
"So... it's near Wano, huh?"
---
To be continued...
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