"Huh?"
Before Aos could react, Buggy jumped up first, mouth agape in an exaggerated O.
"Shanks, what are you thinking? There's a limit to fronting. How could you possibly be a match for Aos?!"
As harsh as it sounded, Shanks had to admit it himself—the gap between their strengths really was too big right now.
Both were thirteen, and Aos was already brushing the threshold of Conqueror's coating,
while Shanks, straining with everything he had, could only faintly sense Haki and couldn't even put it into practice.
Still, sometimes getting stronger means daring to challenge.
"I see…"
Aos smiled knowingly. So Shanks was treating him like an XP farm.
And fair enough—the fastest way to grow is to fight someone one tier above you,
not so easy it's bullying, not so hard it's pie in the sky.
"Since you've got the resolve, come at me."
Aos looked at Shanks, a good head shorter, and a sudden naughty idea struck.
He remembered their duel from years ago—
the legendary,
"Sorry, I don't have a smaller knife."
But after patting himself down, Aos only had a long rifle and a long sword on him—no dagger anywhere.
"Hmm…"
After a long think, he put his battle IQ to work and found a stand-in for a dagger on the laundry line at the stern—
a very large pair of underpants.
"Aos!"
Shanks stepped forward, blade in both hands, voice brimming with youthful fire. Fitting for a future Emperor—born with the guts to swing at the strong.
"Accept my challenge!"
Aos ignored the hot-blooded speech, strolled to the clothesline, and took down his freshly washed underpants.
Under Buggy and Shanks's dumbfounded stares,
he snapped them once, twisted them into a rope, and then—
"Clang!"
jet-black Armament Haki: Hardening coated them. (Armament Haki: If I'd known I'd be wrapped around this, I would've stayed under the skin…)
"Sorry, I don't have any smaller underpants."
Shanks had been hyped, mind racing through ways to find Aos's openings,
but seeing him harden a pair of underpants with Armament Haki and square up, he couldn't keep a straight face.
"D-damn it!"
"Aos, you jerk!!"
"There's a limit to looking down on people!!!"
Last time it was a tiny knife—now we're skipping the act and going straight to underwear!
After five years living and fighting together, he knew what Aos could do.
Guns, fists, swords, Haki—anything to do with battle, Aos could do it, and at a high level.
Facing different opponents, he always pulled out the perfect style in an instant.
Shanks had even seen him go barehanded before—Armament coating both fists, muscling through a siege—and he'd consulted the ship's martial artists more than once.
But to fight me, you just harden a random pair of underpants?
Critical hit, ten thousand points.
Was it Aos's twisted sense of humor, or did he genuinely think underwear was ideal against him?
You've got to be kidding!
Against me, even if you skip your prized marksmanship and brute force, at least use the sword on your hip, you jerk!!!
Shanks clenched his longsword, as if to win back some pride. Every sword form he'd learned from Roger's style came pouring out; the sharp light in his eyes was nothing like a kid's.
Roger himself had called him "a king of the next generation." Maybe he wasn't the freak Aos was, but he was the standout of their age; a faint blade-glow gathered on his edge—
a sign he'd soon be a true swordsman.
"Nice form."
Aos didn't even move his feet. He didn't bother with Future Sight—he simply watched Shanks's charge on battle instinct alone.
The casualness gave Shanks an illusion.
I can land this!
I could actually win!
Even you, Aos, aren't untouchable!!!
Ding!
The ring of steel echoed. Under Buggy's wide-eyed gaze, Shanks's fiercest slash struck squarely against Aos's…
uh,
underpants.
The confidence on Shanks's face flickered into blank confusion.
When did he block it?
Even Buggy, watching, hadn't seen it coming.
Mouth slightly open, Shanks looked up, grim-faced, only to find a mischievous curl at Aos's lips and that look of someone enjoying the show.
"Close one. Almost didn't react in time."
Aos's gremlin streak surfaced; he grinned, teeth flashing.
Shanks's eyelid twitched hard.
"Shanks, looks like it's no good. You're just not a match," Buggy chimed in unhelpfully, whether to talk him down or stir the pot, who could say.
Sure enough, Shanks went even redder.
Veins popped; a faint black Haki edged his blade as he turned and hacked at Aos again.
Ding!
Another ring of steel. Aos blocked it with the underpants again.
Then a rapid clatter of such sounds, as Aos fought while giving ground, methodically wielding his "Supreme-Grade Underpants,"
which, coated in Armament, basically counted as a "Black Blade" (Kokutō)—
the kind that had traded blows with a future Emperor.
While Aos seemed half-distracted, Shanks was about to short-circuit.
Can't even cut through a pair of underwear—was my Armament on the blade fake?
Every sword form he'd learned came out in a frenzy; the web of slashes was airtight,
his cuts already taking shape, yet before those ever-shifting underpants it all turned to a joke, never breaking the guard,
even chipping the edge of his sword,
while the underpants stayed exactly the same—like they could be worn until the end of time.
Anger ebbed into helplessness. Even burning past his limits, Shanks still had no way through Aos's guard,
until Aos's stomach rumbled.
Grrr…
"Sorry, let's call it for today."
Shanks hadn't even processed the words before Aos vanished from in front of him. A gust brushed the back of his head.
No way…
Don't…
"D-don't knock me out with underpants…"
Shanks resisted with all his heart, but there was no helping it—a black "baton" arrowed for the back of his skull and struck with a crisp clack.
He didn't even finish the sentence before Aos's black "stick" met his head.
Under Buggy's astonished stare,
Shanks was lulled to sleep by Aos yet again.
A big red lump swelled up; Buggy winced just looking at it.
Shanks,
he did grow stronger under pressure—but the price…
was a lifetime of blackmail material.