As Miguel looked at the figure of a young Borsalino, he couldn't help but marvel at his luck. Of all the places he could've landed, the very first island he stumbled upon happened to be home—even if only temporarily—to someone of such incredible caliber.
'To think I'd run into a man like him this early... The future's going to be wild.'
Miguel's stare lingered longer than he intended, and Borsalino finally broke the silence with a casual voice tinged with discomfort.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, raising an eyebrow beneath his ever-bored expression.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Miguel smiled.
"Nah, not really. Just got hungry watching you reel in that huge fish. Mind if I take some? I'll cook it — you can just relax."
Borsalino looked at him for a moment, then gave a small shrug.
"Sure, knock yourself out."
That was all Miguel needed.
He moved quickly, taking the massive sea beast and butchering it into more manageable chunks. He built a fire with Borsalino's help and started roasting the meat in simple cuts. The flames crackled between them as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the beach.
With no one else around, conversation came naturally.
"So, what's your name?" Borsalino eventually asked, poking lazily at the fire, "Mine's Borsalino."
"Deus Grego Miguel," Miguel replied, watching the meat carefully, "But you can just call me Miguel."
Borsalino nodded once, eyes half-lidded.
"So, what brings you here all alone, Borsalino?" Miguel asked, casually tossing a chunk of roasted fish onto a leaf for cooling.
"Fishing. Lazing around. I was enjoying the quiet—until you showed up." He glanced at Miguel, "But... I guess it's not so bad. At least you're cooking what I caught."
They both chuckled lightly.
The fire popped again, sending embers into the air as the night settled in.
"Say, Borsalino..." Miguel began, his tone suddenly shifting from light to contemplative,"Do you have any dreams of your own?"
The question made Borsalino blink. He turned his gaze toward the sea. For a while, he was quiet — quieter than Miguel expected.
Eventually, the marine-turned-drifter sighed.
"Not really," he said, voice low but honest, "Maybe I'll just slack off and see what life brings me."
Miguel stared at him for a moment, then slowly smiled, "I think we were destined to meet, Borsalino."
That comment made Borsalino instantly wary. He leaned back slightly, eyeing Miguel like he expected him to pull a weapon out of nowhere.
"Destined?" he asked with a frown, "What do you mean?"
Miguel didn't stop smiling. His eyes were full of energy and wild ambition, "Do you wanna turn the world upside down with me?"
The words echoed with weight — not just because of what they meant, but because of how they were spoken. Miguel didn't even realize it, but his tone, posture, and intent mirrored that of a moment he'd once seen in the One Piece world: when Gol D. Roger extended his hand to Silvers Rayleigh, inviting him into a life that would become legend.
Borsalino stared at him.
For a moment, the night went quiet again — only the gentle breeze and the crackling fire keeping time. Then Borsalino sighed, folding his arms behind his head as he looked up at the sky.
"You're weird, Miguel."
Miguel laughed, "That's not a no."
Borsalino didn't respond, but the slight curl of a smirk on his lips said everything Miguel needed to hear.
----------------------
Miguel stayed on the island for over a month, and during that time, he and Borsalino clashed constantly—not out of hostility, but as a form of sharpening their blades, both literally and metaphorically.
It had all started with a simple, cocky question from Borsalino.
"You sure you're strong enough to be a captain?"
Miguel's response was silence—and then, overwhelming force. Within less than a minute, Borsalino found himself overwhelmed and knocked to the ground, not from lack of trying, but because he had spent most of the match dodging, not taking it seriously. That moment humbled him.
From then on, Miguel took it upon himself to strengthen the lazy man who once had no dreams. His strikes weren't just physical—they cut deep into Borsalino's old personality, slowly chipping away at his slacker mindset and awakening something inside him. Day after day, they sparred—Miguel always adjusting his strength to match Borsalino's as he grew stronger.
Miguel also introduced the concept of Haki to him.
"There's power beyond just Devil Fruits," Miguel had explained.
"It comes from your spirit, your will. Everyone has it—but only a few ever master it."
Borsalino, intrigued, began training in both Observation and Armament Haki. Miguel even demonstrated Conqueror's Haki once, unleashing it like a storm to see if Borsalino might awaken it. But nothing happened.
"Not everyone's born with it," Miguel said simply. "And that's fine. The other two, plus your Devil Fruit, are enough to shake the world."
Now, a month later, on a windswept cliffside clearing, they were at it again.
Borsalino had created a gleaming sword of pure light, his speed blistering across the field. He moved with shocking intensity, nothing like the lazy man Miguel had met just weeks ago. Ten radiant clones danced around him, all striking in tandem with precision and speed, creating a chaotic web of attacks.
Miguel stood in the middle of it all, calm and centered, parrying each strike effortlessly. His blade moved like water—fluid, controlled. He used the momentum of each parry to pivot and slam a Haki-coated kick toward Borsalino's side.
Borsalino reacted instantly, trying to flicker into light to escape. But Miguel anticipated it.
CRACK.
The butt of Miguel's sword slammed into Borsalino's side before he could vanish, sending him crashing into the dirt.
Miguel chuckled, standing over him.
"Down again? That's what, fifteen times this week?" he laughed.
Borsalino lay on the ground, catching his breath. His Devil Fruit hadn't awakened yet. But still—this was the strongest he had ever felt in his life.
Later that afternoon, the two were back by the beach, fishing rods in hand. It had become a tradition. Both had voracious appetites, but they had long since agreed not to deplete the island's land animals. Sea beasts were fair game.
The waves lapped gently against the shore as Borsalino leaned back lazily, his line drifting in the water.
"When are we leaving?" he asked, eyes half-closed.
Miguel sat beside him, reeling in his line and checking the bait.
"Originally, I planned to leave next week..." Miguel said, his voice trailing as he stared out at the horizon.
"But seeing how strong you've become—" he smirked, "—I think we're ready. Tomorrow."
Just as he finished speaking, Miguel's rod jerked. With one swift motion, he pulled the line in with a single arm, a massive fish flying through the air. In a fluid strike, he sliced the beast cleanly, its pieces landing in a neat pile beside him—all in under five seconds.
Borsalino watched in silence, eyes slightly widened.
As Miguel cleaned the catch, Borsalino stared at the sea, his mind wandering. A month ago, he had no direction. No drive. He'd been content just to drift.
Now... things had changed.
He didn't know why Miguel's presence stirred that fire in him—but he didn't resent it. In fact, he welcomed it. He was still himself—still able to slack off when he wanted—but now he had something more: a sense of purpose.
And tomorrow, they'd set sail together.