Roger's big hand scruffed Shanks's red hair with reckless abandon, as if he could knead that beyond-his-years resolve straight into the boy's bones.
Shanks did not dodge. He just grinned and let the captain wreck the hairstyle he had fussed over.
"Ku ha ha ha. Well said." Roger dropped his hand and swept the room, Kozuki Oden, Rayleigh, Gaban, then back to Kael. "You hear that. That is my crew."
The laugh was as bold as ever, yet something complicated flickered behind those bright eyes. Pride, relief, and the faint ache that only time can carve.
"All right, enough standing around," Rayleigh said, pushing his glasses up and snapping the moment in two. "Let Crocus work. We have a departure to prep. Time does not wait."
The others filed out until only Crocus and the sleeping Buggy remained.
The crew poured themselves back into the rhythm of readying to sail, checking canvas, snugging lines, tallying the last of the stores.
The Oro Jackson, that sleeping lion, was about to bare its claws.
But fortune rarely visits twice, and trouble never comes alone.
Hours later, while the officers were holding a final chart meeting on deck, trouble knocked again.
"So according to the Poneglyph, once we cross this band of sea, we…" Rayleigh was tracing a course when a sharp little sneeze cut him off.
"Achoo."
Small sound, yet in the hush it rang clear.
Heads turned. Shanks, who a moment ago had been lounging at the rail full of swagger, was rubbing his nose. A flush that was not sunburn crept across his cheeks.
"Hey, Shanks," Gaban drawled, eyes narrowing, "why is your face redder than your hair."
"Nonsense. I am fine," Shanks shot back, neck stiff, heavy nasal twang ruining any pretense.
He tried to stand straight, but his knees buckled. A quick pair of hands kept him from eating the deck.
"Oi, Red-taro, that does not look right," Oden said, reaching up with curiosity to check his forehead.
"Haha." Shanks forced a laugh. "It is just, just a little warm out here."
"Warm," a deckhand muttered, glancing at the bright sky and the cool sea breeze, utterly lost. "Where."
Shanks's bravado did not last. The world pitched. Charts and faces doubled. He shook his head to clear the fog, and his body answered with the truth, going limp.
"Tch, damn it…"
That was his last thought before the dark took him.
When he opened his eyes again, he was on a cot beside Buggy.
The room reeked of bitter herbs. Crocus wore the exact I knew it look as he lifted a bowl of black medicine to Shanks's lips.
"Drink."
"How did I end up here," Shanks tried to sit, but his limbs were wet rope.
"Why else. You caught the same fever, genius," Crocus said, temper flat. "Hotter than Buggy was when he dropped. The two of you are a full-time headache."
On the next cot, Buggy rolled over and mumbled, "Redhair… idiot…"
"Who are you calling idiot," Shanks snapped, which triggered a savage cough that turned his face even redder.
Out on deck the mood was heavier than when Buggy fell.
"Both down. What do we do."
"Shanks is worse. No way he stays to watch Buggy now."
"Do we postpone."
No one spoke to the captain. Roger stood at the bow with his back to them, saying nothing. They all knew why. Roger's remaining time was more precious than any cask in the hold. Delay a single day and the goal drifted, and the captain's life drained a little more.
Into that choking quiet came a calm voice.
"I will stay."
Kael stepped forward into the circle.
Every eye snapped to him, shock and disbelief chasing each other across their faces.
"Kael," Gaban blurted, eyes bulging as if he had misheard. "What kind of joke is that. You just got back."
"Yeah, Kael," a young hand cried. "This is the Final Island. The end of the voyage. You cannot miss it."
"We finally have everyone aboard. We cannot split now."
"No. Absolutely not."
Protests crashed and tumbled. They had waited a year for Kael, and now he wanted to step off the stage before the curtain rose. No one could swallow that.
Rayleigh did not shout. He studied Kael, gaze deep behind the lenses. "Do you understand what it means."
It meant missing the instant history turned. It meant yielding the right to share in the birth of the Pirate King. It meant stepping away from the final line of the greatest journey of their lives.
"I do." Kael did not waver.
He glanced toward the cabin where the coughing came from, then over the anxious faces on deck. "Those two need someone. And…"
He paused, then added, "this town is not perfectly safe. Leaving two sick brats behind, I would not sleep."
"They are my disciples, after all."
It was ironclad, logical and kind, which only made it harder to refute.
"Not you," Gaban growled, fist thudding the rail. "Pick anyone else, not you. You are the core of this ship."
"Yeah."
"We do not agree. Kael does not stay."
Over the din, Roger finally turned around.
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