Though Rayleigh had sat back down at the counter, his mind was far from calm.
Knocking out Tea Dolphin and blackmailing Fleet Admiral Sengoku — yet the Marines hadn't come for retribution? No reports, no rumors, nothing?
That alone was strange enough.
But even stranger was the tavern itself. It was too quiet.
Every other bar in Sabaody Archipelago was packed to bursting, yet this one — beautifully decorated, with two gorgeous twin waitresses — was empty.
And the twins… that alone should've drawn a crowd.
"'Old sausage,' was it?" Rayleigh finally muttered, face darkening.
Ron smirked. "Why? Don't tell me your legs don't shake whenever you see Shakky at night?"
"You—!" Rayleigh froze, words catching in his throat.
He wanted to snap back, but no clever retort came. Because — damn it — the brat was right.
Old age was cruel. The mind sharp as ever, the body far less so.
Seeing the ex–Pirate King's first mate look so defeated, Ron chuckled, turned, and pulled a bottle from the shelf.
"Relax. If I were a Marine, you'd already be in Impel Down sewing prison uniforms."
Rayleigh snorted proudly. "Arrest me? Sengoku doesn't have the guts to go down with me."
It wasn't arrogance. It was fact.
Even in retirement, Rayleigh's presence alone could sink the Archipelago into chaos.
The Marines knew this — which was why they left him be.
Ron simply smiled, popped the cork, and poured out a stream of amber liquor.
The moment the bottle opened, a deep, herbal aroma filled the tavern — potent, earthy, and invigorating.
Rayleigh took a long breath and sighed in satisfaction. "Now that's good wine."
It was unlike anything he'd ever encountered in his voyages across the Grand Line.
"Try it," Ron said, pushing the glass forward.
"This one might even make your old sausage rise again."
The liquor was Tiger Tonic Wine, brewed from tiger root, angelica, white peony, and gourd powder — now enhanced by the System's mysterious power.
"Really?" Rayleigh's eyes gleamed with boyish excitement — until he glanced inside the bottle and blinked.
There was something submerged in the liquid — a long, barbed shape that looked... far too literal.
That can't be what I think it is, he thought.
Still, the aroma alone was intoxicating, tickling every nerve. His pores seemed to open, blood rushing warmly through his veins.
He raised the glass, took a sip — and his eyes went wide.
"Good wine!"
The taste was perfect — rich yet gentle, the hint of herbs balanced flawlessly with the liquor's smooth heat.
As the faint bitterness faded, a sweet aftertaste bloomed, lingering on his tongue like a slow-burning flame.
But then… he felt something else.
A spark.
A low burn deep in his body, radiating upward. His pulse quickened, heat rushing through every cell.
Adrenaline — and something else — surged wildly.
"How do you feel?" Ron asked with a grin.
Rayleigh exhaled heavily, eyes glassy. "This might be the best drink I've ever had in my life."
He'd tried countless tonics and brews over the decades — all scams, all empty promises.
But this… this was real.
Ron leaned forward, curious. "So, how real are we talking here?"
Rayleigh downed the rest of his glass, laughing breathlessly. "I feel like I'm in my twenties again!"
Ron's eyes widened. The Tiger Tonic works THAT well?!
It actually revived an old man whose "engine" hadn't started in years?
Well then — prices were definitely going up.
Ron corked the bottle, smirking. "Glad you're satisfied, Mr. Rayleigh. Since you're not busy, care to settle the bill before you go?"
Rayleigh froze, then quickly waved his hands. "No, no — I'm not leaving! Forget Shakky's bar — I'm drinking here from now on!"
His gaze darted to the bottle behind the counter, his expression full of desperate longing.
Ron shook his head and replaced the tonic. "One glass is plenty. Too much and your body might not survive it. Try this one instead — guaranteed to satisfy."
He popped open another bottle and poured a crystal-clear stream of liquor.
This time, the aroma was elegant, refined — soothing rather than sharp.
Rayleigh's nose twitched. "What's this one?"
"Moutai," Ron said simply.
Strange name, Rayleigh thought — but curiosity won. He lifted the glass and took a sip.
Immediately, his eyes lit up.
"Excellent!"
It flowed down his throat smooth as silk, no burn, no bite — just the quiet strength of aged craftsmanship.
The flavor was deep and balanced, each note unfolding in harmony.
He couldn't help himself — he poured another, and another, savoring every drop.
After a few drinks, Ron leaned forward. "You've seen a lot of the world, haven't you, Rayleigh? Tell me some stories from back then."
Rayleigh chuckled, setting his glass down. "Only if you give me a discount."
"Deal."
So the old pirate talked — about his early days after retirement, the restlessness of peace, and the wild glory of his adventures alongside Gol D. Roger.
When he spoke of Roger's final days, his voice softened.
"The last time Roger came to see me, he said something strange."
'I won't die.'
Rayleigh smiled faintly, eyes dimming. "He must've meant someone would inherit his will…"
He rubbed the corner of his eye, murmuring, "Roger… I wish I could sail with you once more."
Melancholy hung heavy in the air. The years showed on him now — the burden of time, of memories.
Ron lifted his glass. "To the past," he said.
Rayleigh smiled weakly and raised his own. "And to the future."
But before their glasses could touch, the tavern door creaked open with a soft ding…
A figure stepped inside.
Ron glanced over — and his expression twitched.
"System… you're serious?" he muttered under his breath.
"So the remaining four interdimensional guests really are all simps…"
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