Kael took his bearing, then turned into a streak of light and tore toward the rising sun.
Home.
Once that word rooted in his mind it spread like wildfire, shoving the disappointment and exhaustion that could have crushed him into the far corners.
Faces of his crewmates. Roger's roar. The creak of the helm. The wild racket of a deckside feast. All the sounds he had forced himself to forget for a year returned razor sharp, the only beacons he needed.
…
Days later, at the nameless port.
The Oro Jackson lay quiet alongside the pier, sails furled like a lion sheathing its claws.
Lazy noon sun pooled on the deck. A few hands dozed against the rail.
A figure came skimming in from afar and set down on a mooring post without a sound.
Kael looked up at the ship he knew by heart. The new scars on her timbers read like a year written in his absence. He could all but see which storm had ripped that gap in the mainsail and which broadside had scorched that plank.
He did not board at once. He walked toward the only place in town leaking rum and laughter.
He had not reached the door when the noise hit him first.
"… I am telling you, that Marine rear admiral's mustache was shaved clean off by the great Buggy's throwing knives. You should have seen his face, hah!"
"Liar. I saw you getting chased in circles, crying snot and tears."
"What did you say, you red-haired punk!"
"I said you, red nose!"
Familiar lines. Familiar scuffling.
That is the stuff.
Kael stood in the doorway and watched the two brats rolling on the floor while the crew around them howled, and a year's haze boiled off in the heat.
He stepped inside.
The light was dim. Backlit by the glare behind him, he was a silhouette at first, unnoticed.
Scopper Gaban happened to raise his mug, caught the outline at the door, and froze. He squinted, as if afraid his eyes were lying.
"Hey… look."
Every gaze turned.
Shanks and Buggy stopped mid grapple, hair wild, dumbly staring.
The tavern dropped into a breathless still.
"Ka… Kael!"
Buggy's squeal shattered it. He shoved Shanks off, stumbled, nearly tripped on a table, then flung himself forward in a tangle of limbs.
"You, you bastard, it's really you!"
"Told you I felt it," Shanks grumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he stood, a grin already spreading.
The room exploded.
"Kael!"
"Where the hell did you run off to!"
"Idiot, you do remember how to come back!"
They swarmed him, hemming him in shoulder to shoulder. Heavy hands thumped his back and shoulders, as if to make sure he was not a mirage.
"We thought some mink princess hauled you off to get married."
"Look at those rags. Bet you got conned into digging someone's mine, hah!"
"You got thinner, Kael. Out of cash to eat?"
Rough jokes soaked in worry crashed over him like warm surf.
They jostled him to a table. Someone jammed a brimming glass of orange juice into his hand.
He looked at all the faces, joy naked as the juice was bright. Odd metaphor or not, it fit.
"Sorry I am late."
"Late my ass. The victory feast has not even started," Gaban barked, slapping him so hard the drink nearly leapt free. "Any longer and Buggy was about to steal all your credit."
"Exactly," Buggy puffed up, preening. "That intel on the Final Isla....."
A boot to the backside from Shanks cut the speech short.
Kael laughed, the first laugh all year that rose from his chest.
The crowd parted. Rayleigh and Roger came through.
Rayleigh leaned on the bar, eyes calm behind his lenses. He let his gaze run up and down Kael, nodded once, and left the rest unspoken.
Roger strode up grinning, teeth flashing.
"Ku ha ha ha. You finally decided to grace us with your presence."
He did not ask where Kael had gone, what he had done, whether he had found what he sought. He just drove a fist into Kael's chest.
"A feast does not start without me," Kael said, bumping his knuckles back.
"Damn right." Roger turned, threw his arm high to the room. "Brats. Our last stray is home."
He swept his crew with his eyes—Shanks, Buggy, Gaban, Crocus—and brought them back to Kael.
"Set out," Roger roared, joy and iron in equal measure. "Let's take this world."
"Oh!"
The cheer nearly blew the roof off.
That night the Oro Jackson blazed with light and the long-missed full-crew banquet rolled again. Roasted meat and rum rode the wind for half the harbor to smell.
They poured Kael drink after drink and rattled off stories from the past year. Every tale contained a line that began if Kael were here. None of them carried a whisper of complaint. If anything, they bragged as if to say look, even without you, we pulled it off.
Kael only smiled and listened and drank.
The warmth had not faded and already the horn of departure seemed to be sounding in everyone's ear.
"Hey, Shanks, you seen that idiot Buggy," Gaban called while checking the lashings. "We sail at first light."
"Who knows. Probably curled up somewhere plotting his treasure map," Shanks said, polishing his sword. He sighed, then headed toward the apprentices' bunks anyway.
Kael stood beneath the mainmast and watched.
Everyone moved with a ritual calm, each at his post, Roger at the bow staring into the dark, a mountain that could not be budged. The air felt ordered, solemn, as if history itself were already watching.
The solemnity cracked with a shout.
"Buggy. What is wrong with you."
They followed Shanks's voice. He stuck his head out the cabin door wearing an expression that mixed disgust and worry.
Kael traded a look with Rayleigh and the two of them went in.
Buggy lay cocooned in blankets, face blazing red, breath quick, sweat beading his brow.
Crocus pressed a palm to his forehead and frowned. "High fever. Nasty one."
Arms folded, Shanks stood over the bed and needled by reflex. "Catching a cold the night before the biggest adventure of your life, are you a toddler. Your face is red as a tomato. Lie still."
Buggy blinked awake, pupils swimming, mind cooked by heat. He focused on Shanks's obnoxious red hair and rallied.
"Shut up… who are you calling big red and big nose."
A vein jumped in Shanks's temple. "Hah. You are delirious, idiot. I said your face."
"Fight, fight," Roger and Kozuki Oden chanted at the door, happy to fan any spark.
"Captain, do not you start," Shanks snapped over his shoulder, then leaned back in to pin the squirming patient. "Stay down, sick boy."
"Let go, redhead," Buggy thrashed, fever clamping his mind around one idea. "Final Island, the treasure is waiting for me."
Shanks pinned his shoulders hard.
The next second Buggy's upper body popped out of the covers like a rubber ball, launched cleanly into Roger's arms. His legs and hips remained neatly tucked in the bed.
Kael stared at the absurd scene and was briefly unsure what face to make.
"The treasure is waiting for me. Captain, take me," Buggy bawled, clinging to Roger's thigh with everything he had, blissfully unaware he had left his lower half behind.
Roger looked down at the living accessory on his leg and laughed even harder. He grabbed Buggy by the scruff like a cat and held him up. "Ku ha ha ha. You can go when you are not burning up, brat."
The room devolved into chaos.
Some laughed. Some fumbled to dig the rest of Buggy out from under the blankets. At last Crocus forced down a dose of vile herbs, Buggy's strength guttered, they reassembled him, and he sank back into heavy sleep.
Reassembled Buggy, mission complete.
Even asleep he twitched and muttered, take me, my treasure, do not steal mine.
The noise ebbed. Only the core crew remained, the air turning heavy.
Everyone knew it. In this state Buggy could not stand, let alone sail to the last island. And the sea ahead would not wait for a patient to recover.
"Of all times," Gaban groaned, rubbing his head.
"Leave him in town with a doctor," someone offered, then shook his own head. "No, dumping him alone here is too…"
Silence.
Shanks spoke.
He had stood at the bedside the whole time. The smirk was gone from his face.
"I will stay and look after him."
The words were quiet and fell like a stone into still water. Heads turned.
Oden peered in with open curiosity. "Buggy-jiro is making trouble. You sure you do not need to go, Red-taro."
Shanks did not answer at once. He tugged the blanket straight to cover the foot Buggy kept kicking free.
Then he turned, swept the room with his gaze, and settled on Roger.
The eyes that had belonged to a boy seemed suddenly clear and steady beyond their years.
"If we are going," he said, "we will go on our own ship."
He said it lightly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. The promise inside it tightened every throat.
Kael's heart kicked. The kid had grown up.
Roger had been silent, listening.
He kept that trademark grin as he stepped up and dropped his broad palm onto the red hair, rubbing hard.
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