Not long after, the Oro Jackson finally reached Wano.
At the anchor chain, Shiro rested a heavy arm across Oden's broad shoulder. A year of shared battles had forged a silent bond between them.
"Oden," Shiro muttered low, his voice swallowed by the salt wind, "pirates are a cunning breed. Don't trust their words too easily."
Oden blinked in confusion, then gave a simple nod.
Shiro exhaled quietly. This reckless fool… charging headfirst without ever thinking. When will he learn that beneath the waves of this sea lies nothing but schemes and betrayal?
As he turned toward the cabin, Shiro caught sight of Lady Toki tending to her children.
"Lady Toki, thank you for teaching me what you know about time travel."
He set a Den Den mushi gently upon the table. Its shell gleamed faintly blue in the candlelight.
"If you ever find yourself in danger, call me through this. You know I can teleport in an instant."
Placing little Hiyori onto the bed, Toki accepted the Den Den mushi with both hands. Her smile was warm, though a trace of worry lingered behind her eyes.
"Shiro-kun, I don't know much about time travel myself, but I hope what I told you proves useful. And… thank you for leaving this behind. If something happens we truly can't handle, I'll reach out. I hope you won't find me troublesome."
Shiro waved it off with an easy smile.
When the ship finally docked, the carefree Oden led his family ashore.
One by one, the Roger Pirates began to part ways. In the misty dawn, Gaban and Seagull descended the swaying rope ladder as the farmlands of Elbaf stretched across the horizon. Sunbell dove straight into the sea, vanishing into the currents that swept toward Fishman Island.
Rayleigh raised his sails for the Sabaody Archipelago, keeping his promise to return to Shakky's side.
Within a month, nearly all the crew had disembarked. Only Shiro, Buggy, and Shanks remained aboard the Oro Jackson.
At the bow, Shiro leaned on the rail, watching Buggy's knuckles whiten as he clutched a rope. The East Blue's waters were gentler than the Grand Line, and the air smelled faintly of roasted seafood drifting from a distant island. But the scent couldn't mask the fear in Buggy's eyes.
"Shiro-nii… maybe I should just stick with you. I'm… I'm scared."
A sharp blast of the ship's horn cut off his words. Buggy quickly wiped the sweat from his brow, exposing a freshly tattooed treasure map across his arm.
It was clear—he feared facing the seas alone, and doubted himself more than anyone else.
Shiro crouched down until their eyes met, the sea breeze tossing their hair.
"Buggy, tell me—what's most important: effort, talent, or luck?"
The waves muffled his voice, yet every syllable struck clearly.
Buggy's throat bobbed. His gaze fell to a hermit crab struggling between the deck planks.
"I… I think it's talent." His voice was barely a whisper. Shanks's easy victories over him in training still haunted his dreams.
Shiro shook his head, tracing the paw-print marks of his Devil Fruit across his palm.
"My answer is luck. Even with talent and hard work, without luck you'll never get the chance to rise."
He grasped Buggy's trembling hand, his touch warm and steady.
"I told you before—you carry the luck of a king. A conqueror's fortune. With that kind of destiny, I believe you'll become someone great on this sea."
The words struck deep, igniting sparks long buried in Buggy's eyes. He tightened his grip on Shiro's hand.
"Everyone looks down on me. And I… I never prove them wrong. But Shiro-nii, you're the only one who's ever believed in me. I swear, if I ever make it big, I'll repay you!"
Shiro chuckled, patting a bundle against Buggy's back before pushing him gently toward the gangplank.
"Go. As long as you hold onto that belief, you'll succeed. And don't forget—you're a trainee of the Roger Pirates!"
Buggy's figure shrank into the distance, vanishing into the golden sands of a new shore.
Shanks remained. He turned beneath the brim of the straw hat, eyes clouded with hesitation. He pointed casually toward a smoke-rising village, ready to step off—until Shiro's voice froze him in place.
"Shanks… you already know you're a Celestial Dragon, don't you?"
The boy's back stiffened. The sword at his waist hummed faintly.
"You… you know my heritage too?"
Shiro smiled, weaving his words carefully.
"Of course. Maybe I even know more than you. After all, I was just like you—picked up at God Valley and brought aboard this ship."
Shanks's pupils contracted, locked memories tearing open. He clutched Shiro's sleeve desperately.
"Shiro-nii… tell me. Who is my father?"
The setting sun stretched their shadows long across the deck, tangling together like strands of fate.
"Your father," Shiro said gravely, "is Figarland Garling, commander of the God's Knights. You also have a twin brother, Figarland Shamrock. During the battle at God Valley, you were lost… and Captain Roger found you.
So yes, you're a Celestial Dragon—but not just any. You're from one of the most powerful families among them."
He revealed the truth piece by piece, pulling away the dust of secrecy.
Shanks trembled, the twilight casting his face in shifting light and shadow. His hands gripped his head as he sank to his knees, muffled sobs escaping beneath the straw hat.
"Then… what should I do?"
Shiro seized his shoulders, firm and unyielding.
"Listen, Shanks! Blood doesn't decide your path. The life you choose—that's what matters. Live with a clear conscience, and nothing else can chain you!"
The words pounded in Shanks's ears like war drums. Slowly, the doubt in his gaze hardened into resolve.
Shiro's tone grew heavier.
"My advice? Don't return to Mary Geoise. If you do, you'll lose your freedom. Regaining it will cost you dearly."
In the original course of history, Shiro knew Shanks would indeed return. He would serve the God's Knights, cursed with an immortal brand upon his left arm by Imu, bound under their control. Only years later would he sever ties with the Celestial Dragons—at the price of his left hand.
But Shiro's words now gave him another path. A chance to remain whole.
Shanks fell silent for a long time, then lifted his head, gratitude glistening in his eyes. With a firm nod, he shouldered his pack and strode toward his own destiny.
The Roger Pirates were no more. Yet their echoes would resound across the seas for generations to come.
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